


Disparate Proceedings

by Arrynae9



Series: The Grey Alliance [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not sorry), Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Harry has an eidetic memory, Harry is sad :(, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slytherin Harry Potter, but he has friends :), but they're only second years it's nothing too bad yet, characters really, read the first one first guys you know how this goes, sorryyyy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8343019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrynae9/pseuds/Arrynae9
Summary: Otherwise known as The Boy Who Lived is a Bit of an Idiot But We Love Him Anyway (and Voldy is Here Too).A retelling of the Chamber of Secrets with a Slytherin Harry who sees in shades of grey and still has an atrociously large hero complex.Read book one (Alternate Beginnings) first to fully understand the characters.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!  
> A massive thank you to all the readers of Alternate Beginnings who are still following with me, your lovely comments really make my day <3 And a big welcome to any new readers! Hope you enjoy what you find here :)  
> By all means, read on!  
> (Oh, and PS - obviously there are bits I have taken directly from either the movie or book. If you recognise it, it's not mine! Please don't sue me, I'm so broke.)

Hadrian James Potter did not often cry – at least, not anymore. Crying was weakness, he had learned, through cruel mockery and frequent beatings. This was a truth. Crying was pointless, and pathetic, and got you nothing but more pain.

So young Harry rarely cried, though perhaps he should have. On his twelfth birthday, however, Harry thought he might have been excused for wanting to cry, because of all the lonely birthdays he had ever had, this one was by far the loneliest.

Harry remembered everything, and so it was with crystal clarity that he recalled the events of his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: being Sorted into Slytherin; the Great Hall sparkling with light; the troll at Halloween; the Cerberus on the third floor; the parasitic remains of Voldemort crumbling with Quirrell under his bare hands; and of course, his friends. Draco, Blaise, Hermione, Neville, Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, Theodore, Tracey – even Adrian and Gemma. He’d _thought_ they were friends, all of them, and yet here he was, alone in his brand new bedroom at Number 4, Privet Drive, twelve years old, and he had not a single letter from any of the wonderful people he remembered.

Sometimes, lying in the dark at night, Harry thought he had imagined the whole thing. Hogwarts, his friends, Voldemort – all of it, just a dream.

 _‘Or maybe,’_ some small, traitorous part of Harry’s mind whispered, _‘They haven’t written to you all Summer because they hate you. A freak doesn’t get friends, remember?’_

“Shut up,” Harry whispered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. “They care about me. I’m not a freak.”

A loud _squawk_ made him jump. Hedwig, his snowy white owl, was glaring at him through the bars of her cage. She pecked pointedly at the large lock on the cage door, the key for which was sitting comfortably on Harry’s Uncle Vernon’s belt.

“I’m sorry, Hedwig,” Harry murmured sympathetically. He could understand the feeling of being in a cage. “You know I can’t use magic outside of school.”

Hedwig was the only real reminder that Hogwarts _hadn’t_ been a dream. All the rest of his school supplies had been stuffed into Harry’s old cupboard and locked away.

“BOY!”

Harry couldn’t stop his flinch as Vernon’s bellow echoed through the house.

“Now you’ve done it,” he muttered at Hedwig, before heading downstairs.

“I warned you,” Vernon Dursley growled, glowering at Harry and struggling with Dudley’s bowtie. “If you can’t control that bloody bird, it’ll have to go.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said quietly, gaze on the ground. He took a chance and continued, “If I could just let her out for an hour or two-”

Vernon scoffed. “And have you sending secret messages to your freaky little friends? Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t gotten any messages.”

“Who would want to be friends with _you_?” Dudley sneered, bowtie finally relenting.

“I should think you’d be more grateful,” Vernon snapped, turning a single pudgy finger on Harry. “We raise you since you were a baby, give you food off our table, even let you have Dudley’s second bedroom – all out of the goodness of our own hearts.”

Dudley frowned. “I thought he got the second bedroom because Mum was afraid he’d turn us into dung beetles if you put him back in the cupboard.”

Aunt Petunia froze in the kitchen where she was adding the finishing touches to a large, red cake. She only moved again when she noticed Dudley extending his own thick fingers to the pudding.

“Not yet, popkin,” she told him with a forced smile. “That’s for when the Masons arrive.”

“Which should be any moment,” Vernon reminded them all. “Now, let’s run through our schedule one more time. Petunia, when the Masons get here, you will be-”

“In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously into our home,” Aunt Petunia said, sweeping into position.

Uncle Vernon nodded, his many chins wobbling. “Good. And Dudley?”

“I’ll be waiting to open the door,” Dudley replied pompously.

“Excellent. And you, boy?”

Harry lowered his eyes once again. “In my room, silent.”

“And?”

“Pretending I don’t exist.”

“Too right you will,” Vernon glared at him. “With any luck, this could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career.”

The doorbell rung, cutting off Petunia’s reassurance, and Vernon shoved Harry roughly towards the stairs.

“Upstairs with you, boy!”

Harry picked himself up off of the stairs and moved silently up to his room. The grazes on his palms were only carpet burn – they would heal quickly.

Harry froze one step into his room. There was something jumping on his bed. Bat-like ears and giant green eyes were the creatures main features, and Harry identified it quickly. The more important question was this: why the Hell was there a House Elf playing trampoline on his bed?

“Hadrian Potter!” the elf squeaked, leaping off the bed. “Such an honour it is!”

“Who are you?” Harry asked, reminding himself to stay calm.

“Dobby, sir,” the creature smiled wide and gave a deep bow. “Dobby the House Elf.”

Harry rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Listen, this isn’t a great time, Dobby. Go back to your master. Actually, who is-”

“Oh yes, sir, Dobby understands,” Dobby interrupted him quickly. “It’s just that, Dobby has come to tell you… Well, it is difficult, sir. Dobby wonders where to begin.”

“Just tell me why you’re here,” Harry sighed.

The House Elf leaned forward. “Dobby has to protect Mr Potter. To warn him. Mr Potter must not go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year.”

Harry frowned. “Why would I not go back?”

“There is a plot,” Dobby continued in a fierce whisper. “A plot to make most terrible things happen. If Mr Potter goes back to school he will be in great danger.”

“A plot?” Harry shook his head. “Who is your master, Dobby?”

The elf made a strange gagging noise, and whipped his head around in a panic.

“Dobby!” Harry snapped, as quietly as he could. “What family do you serve?”

Dobby dropped his head, his large ears drooping. “The Malfoy Family, sir.”

“The Malfoys? Draco? Did Draco send you? Answer me!”

“No, sir,” Dobby wrung his hands. “Master Draco doesn’t know Dobby has come. None of them do, but Dobby had to warn Mr Potter.”

“I have to go back to Hogwarts, I can’t stay here,” Harry told him. “I just can’t.”

“Why would Mr Potter go back to friends who don’t even write to him?”

Harry froze. “Excuse me?”

Dobby shuffled back towards the wardrobe, shaking his head.

“How do you know my friends haven’t been writing me?” Harry asked as calmly as he could.

The elf guiltily took a bound stack of letters from his pillowcase-tunic. “Mr Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby – Dobby hoped if Mr Potter had thought his friends had forgotten him, Mr Potter might not want to go back to school, sir.”

Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to wring the little creature’s neck and snatch the letters from his hands. But that would get him nowhere. No - he needed to be smart.

“Dobby,” he began, carefully. “If you give me the letters, and unlock Hedwig’s cage for me, I will promise not to go back to Hogwarts this year.”

Dobby’s huge eyes got huger. “Really? Mr Potter promises?”

Harry nodded. “I promise. But I need to explain that to my friends so they don’t worry about me, so I need the letters, and I need Hedwig’s cage unlocked.”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, Mr Potter! Oh, Dobby is so pleased Mr Potter listened to Dobby, sir. Mr Potter will be safe, now!”

“Okay,” Harry said, once Dobby had fulfilled his end of the deal. “Goodbye now, Dobby.”

 “Goodbye, Mr Potter,” Dobby said, with a bow, and disappeared with a _crack_.

As soon as he was gone, Harry read every single one of his letters. Then he searched his room for the broken stub of a pencil he had been allowed, and scratched out replies, explaining his whole situation and how he hoped they were well. At the end of Draco’s, he added:

_Long story short: keep that damn House Elf away from me, yeah?_

He attached as many as he could to Hedwig’s expectantly outstretched claw, whispered to her who they were all for, and watched her fly away.

Harry would be returning to Hogwarts – of course he would, especially now he knew his friends still cared about him. He’d deal with this ‘plot’ when he had to. For now, he simply held the stack of letters close, and didn’t bother to keep his grin off of his face.

Unfortunately, there was one thing Harry had forgotten.

He watched with mounting horror as his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Cousin Dudley, and the visiting Masons all stared in shock at the snowy white owl carrying a mountain of letters and flying – in plain daylight – into the distance.

“Oh, no.”

 

Uncle Vernon was furious. The Masons had told him very coldly that they would “get back to him” on his big deal after seeing a letter-burdened owl leave his house, and very quickly driven away. Harry, of course, got the brunt of his rage, but it seemed Vernon didn’t want to just leave it at violence this time. That very day, Harry’s bedroom gained three new adornments: large iron bars on the outside of his window; a small metal flap on the base of his door; and a thick grey lock to the door itself. The door snapped shut like a cell door when Vernon was done. Harry sat on the floor and tried not to panic. He would be fine, rationally, he knew that. His friends would find him, would help him. But the shadowed bedroom suddenly seemed very small, like the walls were closing in, like the world was going dark and he was back in his cupboard again, hunched over and scared-

The metal flap on his door pushed open, snapping Harry out of his hyperventilation. A bowl of tinned soup slid through, followed by a small piece of bread Harry could already tell was stale.

Dudley’s pudgy face grinned through the opening.

“I know what day it is,” Dudley said.

Harry closed his eyes. “Well done,” he replied mockingly, but his voice was weak.

His cousin didn’t seem to notice. “It’s your birthday,” Dudley’s cruel smile widened. “And nobody cares.”

Harry snapped his eyes open and lunged forward with a threatening snarl, making Dudley swear and stumble backwards.

“Freak!” the boy called, before turning and running away.

Harry collapsed on the floor next to the food. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile at the way Dudley had reacted. He was too tired. Harry closed his eyes against the dark, and began to dream.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves the Dursleys', and meets Narcissa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty nervous about this chapter honestly :/ Thank you for all the kind comments by the way, you guys are wonderful and I'm so pleased you like what I write! <3

Harry woke with a gasp. The world was black. He struggled to get up, but the silence and the dark was pushing him down, choking his throat and suffocating him. Why couldn’t he see anything? Was he standing? Where was he? His hand touched something cold and wet and he snatched it back with a yelp. There was a loud curse from somewhere in the house, and then heavy footsteps on the landing.

 _‘Uncle Vernon,’_ Harry’s brain supplied, wild and panicked. _‘He’s going to hurt me. I have to get out. I have to get out!’_

He thought he closed his eyes but it was too dark to tell. Where was the light? Uncle Vernon was coming. The world was black and he was drowning and then-

Light.

Harry opened his eyes tentatively, breath coming in quick pants. There was a breeze on his face and a lamp above his head – he was outside. When did he get onto the street?

Harry lowered his arms from around his head and shakily pushed himself upwards. He swayed on his feet and nearly fell over, but caught himself on the lamp-post just in time. What the Hell had just happened?

A quick scan of his surroundings answered that question, for Harry had not moved far – just outside of Number 4, Privet Drive, in fact, and so when he glanced up he could very clearly see the iron bars on his own window. Except now, the bars didn’t look so solid. They were twisted and warped, bulging outwards as though some great force had slammed into them from within.

_‘I did that.’_

The thought was a certainty, but it was not a comfort. _How_ had he done that? He’d never done anything like that before, not really, and Harry suddenly felt very small, looking at what his magic had done.

Vernon was yelling from inside the house. Petunia was shrieking. Other houses were turning on their lights to see what was going on. The street was dark, but it was not as scary as Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry turned, and he ran.

 

The Leaky Cauldron was a welcome sight to Harry’s tired eyes. The world was lightening; Harry had been walking for hours, so long that he could barely feel his feet. Everything he owned was back at the Dursleys’, save for the tattered hand-me-downs on his back. Harry was exhausted, and frightened, and very, very, alone.

Harry walked sluggishly up to the barkeep, intent on asking for a room. Too late he realised he had no money; his small bag of emergency galleons was still locked in the cupboard at Privet Drive.

“What can I do for you, kiddo?” the man asked cheerfully, though his eyes examined Harry with a curiosity that made Harry want to squirm.

“I- I need a room, please,” Harry told him, silently cursing his stutter. “But I haven’t got any money on me. I can pay you tomorrow, I just need to visit Gringotts, but…”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow sceptically. “You’re telling me you have money? No offence, shortie, but you look like a runaway to me.”

“I do have money! I swear, if I could just have one night-”

“Relax, relax!” the man chuckled. “You can have a room, kid, it’s okay. And tomorrow we’ll see about calling in some help for you, alright?”

“I have friends who can come pick me up,” Harry said.

The stranger didn’t look like he believed him, but he said nothing. He turned away to a wall of keys behind him and selected one for Harry.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it over. “Room 41b, it’s on the third floor, to the left. I’m John, by the way. What’s your name, kid?”

“Piers,” Harry lied. “Thank you for the room.”

“Go get some rest, kiddo. You look dead on your feet.”

Harry felt it. As soon as he had entered Room 21b and locked the door securely behind him, he collapsed onto the bed, and went straight to sleep.

 

Harry woke to the sound of knocking on his door.

“Hey kid,” John called from the hall. “You’ve got mail.”

Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned, taking a moment to remember where he was – remember what had happened. “Coming!”

He opened the door, and was greeted by a flash of white that nearly bowled him over.

“Hedwig!”

“Smart owl you got there, kid,” John commented. “Followed me all the way from the Owlery until I stopped here. Say, what kind of runaway has a bird that fancy?”

“I’m not a runaway,” Harry said absently, retrieving the letters from an impatient Hedwig and sorting through them. Every one of his friends had replied, much to his pleasure.

“Sure, sure,” John replied dismissively. “We serve breakfast in ten, kiddo.”

Harry read through each of his letters, holding them close and realising with a surge of alarm that he had left not just his other letters (which were more precious to him than nearly anything) but also his wand.

Harry did the only thing he could think of to do: he wrote to Draco (as Blaise, Neville, and Hermione were all away for the holiday, and he wasn’t as close with his other friends) and asked if he could meet at the Leaky Cauldron sometime soon. Then, after sending the letter off with one of the delivery owls (Hedwig was exhausted, and already settling for sleep on his windowsill), he headed off for Gringotts.

Retrieving some money wasn’t a pleasant experience – as respectful as he tried to be, Harry got the feeling the goblins didn’t like him – but he at least felt a bit better with galleons in his pocket. He returned to the Leaky Cauldron, intent on paying John the barkeep for his room as soon as he saw him, and instead met a very anxious Draco Malfoy.

“Harry!” Draco launched into a hug. “Merlin, you had me worried sick. Are you okay? What happened? Where were you? Where’s-”

“Calm down, Draco,” a smooth voice interrupted them. “Don’t overwhelm him.”

Harry looked over. The woman talking was tall and slender, with sleek platinum blonde hair and fair skin. She was beautiful – and the spitting image of Draco.

“Hello, Hadrian,” Narcissa Malfoy said with a smile. “Draco has told me all about you.”

“Hello, Lady Malfoy,” Harry bowed his head politely, trying to hide his nervousness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” She waved one, perfectly-manicured hand to call over a staff member. “Shall we sit down somewhere more private?”

 

Harry felt rather awkward, explaining what had happened to one of his best friends and the Lady Malfoy, but he kept as many of the details as he could out of it. He kept it to the basics: he had been in his room, he had woken frightened from a nightmare, his magic had sent him onto the street, and he had run away. He didn’t want anyone to know about the Dursleys, let alone Draco and Narcissa. He didn’t think he could stand it – the disappointment on their faces, knowing that he had let the Dursleys hurt him, let them lock him in a cupboard, knowing he hadn’t done anything to stop it. Even thinking of it all brought a hot flush of shame to his cheeks, and he carefully turned his head away under the pretence of examining the room so that neither Draco nor his mother could see.

“Well,” Narcissa said when he was done. “It appears we have a trip to make. If I may know your relatives’ address I can apparate us there, and-”

“No!” Harry interrupted her, before lowering his head. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t think we should go there.”

Narcissa considered him carefully. “We must retrieve your school supplies, Hadrian, not to mention your wand.”

Harry knew this. Of course he did. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Narcissa and Draco at the Dursleys’. Who knew what Uncle Vernon would say to them? Or Dudley? He didn’t think Aunt Petunia would say anything, but that was the thing with Aunt Petunia – she always turned a blind eye.

“Draco, would you mind bringing us some tea, please?” Narcissa said suddenly, turning to her son.

“But Mother-”

“Now, Draco.”

Draco sighed. “Okay. I’ll be back in a second, Harry.”

Harry watched him leave with trepidation, before turning back to the Lady Malfoy. She cast a _scourgify_ on the table to clean it, before folding her hands delicately between them and staring directly into his eyes.

“Hadrian,” she began, gently. “Why do you not want to go see your relatives?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “It’s nothing, really. I just think it would be better if I went alone.”

Narcissa’s eyes were soft and kind. “I can help, Harry, but only if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry kept his eyes fixed firmly on the table, on the lines and scratches on the dark wood from many years of use.

“They don’t like magic,” he said finally, voice quiet as a mouse.

“Have they ever hurt you?”

The shame was in Harry’s chest, now, rising to tighten around his throat and press heatedly behind his eyes. They prickled wetly, and Harry bowed his head more.

 _‘Don’t cry, idiot!’_ he thought fiercely. He blinked, hard, until his eyes were dry again, and then released a long, shaky breath.

“Yes,” he whispered, before raising his head. “It’s not much, though, I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can, Harry,” Narcissa assured him calmly. “The point is that you do not have to handle it alone.”

Harry didn’t say anything. Despite Narcissa’s kind words he could not dislodge the heavy weight at the base of his throat, or the voice in the back of his head that called him _pathetic; weak; freak_.

“How about this: you and I visit your relatives. Draco will stay behind – I believe we saw Theodore in Diagon Alley earlier, so they may stay here under the… meagre supervision of the barkeep while you and I retrieve your supplies.”

Harry considered the suggestion for a moment. He didn’t want _anyone_ at the Dursleys’, but he _did_ have to get his things back, and at least this way Draco wouldn’t have to see anything.

“Okay,” Harry nodded eventually. “Just- please don’t tell Draco.”

“He will not judge you, Harry,” Narcissa told him, gently. “But it is your secret to tell. I will not share it for you.”

“Thank you.”

Draco came back into the room, then, three cups of tea balanced carefully in his hands, and Harry put back on a smile.

Maybe everything would be alright. Maybe Narcissa would take him there, the Dursleys would stay out of the way, and they could grab his things and then leave.

It was an optimistic thought, but Harry clung to it. Just maybe, it would all be fine.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa meets Petunia - and is unimpressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever! See the end notes for an explanation, just know that updates will probably be very slow for the coming weeks, and I'm so sorry :( I hope some bamf!Narcissa can make up for it!

Number 4, Privet Drive did not look like the Hell Harry remembered it as. There were no bars on the window; no signs of unhappiness save for the slight drooping of the tulips in Petunia’s garden. Harry had always been the one to take care of them – he felt just a little better, seeing them beginning to wither. It was a sign that Harry had been there. That he had been of use – of value.

Harry barely noticed his movement until Narcissa was knocking sharply on the Dursleys’ door with her wand. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet of Little Whinging. Harry’s heart beat louder.

“If you wait out here, Lady Malfoy, I can get my things from inside,” Harry suggested. It was an optimistic thought (Uncle Vernon was unlikely to allow him to do any such thing), but standing at the doorway of the only place before Hogwarts he could ever have called home, Harry found himself desperate to keep Narcissa from going inside. The Dursleys were his secret. They were his shame to bear. Someone like Narcissa Malfoy did not belong in Number 4, Privet Drive.

“Just Narcissa dear, remember,” the witch in question was saying absently. “And of course not. I’ll be helping you deal with your school supplies. I doubt you want to be carrying a heavy trunk everywhere with you, hm?”

Harry didn’t answer, because the door was suddenly opening to reveal the pinched, wide-eyed face of Petunia Dursley.

Petunia stared at Narcissa for a moment, eyes flickering from her aristocratic features to her wand, held just slightly forward so as to be hidden from view of the street – but in plain view of Petunia. Then, her gaze landed on him.

There was an emotion in her eyes Harry thought he recognised, but didn’t want to name. Disgust was never a kind thing to see.

“Hello, Mrs Dursley,” Narcissa greeted pleasantly. She did not smile. “We have come to retrieve Harry’s supplies. I trust you do not mind.”

“Ah, Narcissa. We were just expecting you.”

Narcissa’s fingers tightened just slightly around her wand. Her cool expression did not waver.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” she said, as the old wizard came into view from behind Petunia. “I’m afraid Harry and I were merely stopping by for a moment. My son is still in Diagon Alley, you see, and Harry has books to buy.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding. Young Harry’s home is here, with his family, and to remove him from that space would be a dreadful strain on the boy. You may return to your son, Narcissa. I will see that Harry and his relatives’ are properly reunited.”

For one, terrifying moment, Harry thought Narcissa would agree. The idea made him want to scream, want to cry and yell until someone understood that he couldn’t go back to the Dursleys’. He _couldn’t_.

But Narcissa just tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in an innocently quizzical expression. “Why, it appears there _has_ been a misunderstanding. Harry was simply visiting my own home for the holidays. Draco gets ever so lonely, you realise, and Harry wished to keep him company. We are only returning for a moment to retrieve Harry’s school notes from his first year. The boys wish to study together.” She turned an icy blue gaze on Petunia Dursley, brows still raised inoffensively in contrast. “Petunia and I spoke about the visit just a week ago, didn’t we Petunia? You remember, don’t you?”

The woman in question looked like she might collapse. Her face was white and even tighter than normal, and her eyes flickered quickly between the three magical folk in the front hall of her home.

“Yes,” she said, finally. She cleared her throat. “Yes, we spoke about it. I must have forgotten.”

“You must have.” Narcissa smiled, then, polite and indulgent – but to Harry it just looked triumphant. “So you see, Headmaster? Just a misunderstanding. Harry and I ought to be going, really, once we collect his things. Do forgive our haste – I dislike leaving Draco for too long.”

Dumbledore smiled back, just as kindly. Harry thought it looked like defeat. “Of course,” the old wizard said, and excused himself back to his school.

Narcissa’s smile dropped as soon as the disapparation _crack_ signalled Dumbledore’s departure.

“Now,” she said. Her voice was cold. “You will take me to where Harry’s school supplies are. You will show me his living conditions, and explain to me exactly what you thought you were doing keeping a child the way you have. He will not be returning here. If Dumbledore asks where he is, tell him Harry is simply out, or say he is visiting my son again. And if you disobey any of these instructions, I will come back here and deal with you personally. Am I understood?”

Petunia’s wide, frightened eyes dropped to the floor. Her hands shook. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Good,” Narcissa said. “Then let’s begin.”

 

It took Harry a little under seven minutes to repack and organise his things. Narcissa cast a featherweight charm on his trunk for him, so he could barely feel the many books and supplies held within. He took so little time, in fact, that when he made his way back to the living room, Narcissa and his Aunt Petunia were still talking.

Or rather, Narcissa was talking; Petunia was cowering.

 “I don’t know how you were allowed custody of Hadrian Potter, when anyone – _anyone_ else would have been more suitable, but I will find out, and whoever is responsible will be punished. No child deserves to be treated the way you and your filthy husband have treated that boy. _Muggles_ ,” she hissed in disgust. “Harry will not be returning here. Not these holidays and not ever again. I will make sure of it. Do not doubt that if that means I must destroy your entire family, I will do so. Hurting a _child_ is repulsive. _You_ are repulsive.”

Harry thought she might have continued, but she seemed to become aware of his presence then, and took a deep breath to steady herself.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and kind.

“Ready to leave, dear?”

Harry nodded.

“Very well.” Narcissa stood, smoothing down the skirt of her elegant dress robe. She did not spare Petunia another glance. “Let’s go back to Draco, shall we?”

Harry nodded again, and when they left Number 4, Privet Drive, he did not look back.

 

Narcissa bought them ice cream. Harry ate his in silence. He hadn’t said anything since they left Little Whinging – in all honestly, he didn’t know what to say. Theodore wasn’t ever inclined to chatter, so the conversation around him was mostly Narcissa and Draco, but Harry wasn’t really paying attention. He needed to process.

He wasn’t used to people caring about him. Draco pushed him into believing it frequently with his outward displays of affection, and the memory of waking up in the hospital wing at the end of his first year of Hogwarts, surrounded by his friends still conjured soft warmth in his chest. Despite this, however, people caring for him just didn’t feel _right_. He was a freak – that was all he knew. It was all he had been told since being dropped on the doorstep of Number 4.

But – seeing how Narcissa had reacted helped, just a little bit. And she had said he would never go back there again. He wouldn’t have to see the Dursleys ever again. He wouldn’t have to deal with Uncle Vernon’s violent anger, or Aunt Petunia’s wilful ignorance, or Dudley’s petty bullying. That wasn’t his life anymore.

Harry looked up from his ice cream. Theodore was watching him with careful eyes; Narcissa was smiling softly at her son; and Draco was chatting enthusiastically about the new Quidditch broom. This was his life now. No more Dursleys, no more hatred. Just this.

That sounded like a good life to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa: 1, Dumbledore: 0!
> 
> I'm sorry about the lack of updates guys! My formal external exams have just started, and I'm a bit of a mess of stress :( Unfortunately, these slow updates will be continuing (or perhaps even zero updates) for the next two and a half weeks or so as my exams continue. However! My last exam is on the afternoon of November 18th, so after that we should be back to regular upload time! I hope you can forgive me for now :( Thank you all for sticking with me! <3


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilderoy Lockhart ruins the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! We should be coming back into regular update time now (that's three to five days) because all my exams are done, and I'm on holiday! Thank you all for your kind wishes and comments :) Please enjoy!

Draco visited Harry every day at the Leaky Cauldron over the following weeks, without fail. Narcissa joined them most days, as a supervisor of sorts, but when she had other business to attend to they were left with a Malfoy House Elf – Dilly. Dilly was a bit odd, Harry thought, but nice enough. And at least she wasn’t Dobby.

Using Hedwig, and Draco’s eagle owl, Titan, they arranged with their friends to meet a week before school began. Harry extended invitations to Hermione and Neville, but he wasn’t surprised when they both – politely – declined. He’d have to work in the upcoming year to get his Slytherin and non-Slytherin friends on better terms, Harry resolved. This split of his friendship was becoming annoying.

Nonetheless, Harry was thrilled to be meeting up with his Slytherin peers. As much as he enjoyed Draco’s company, he had still missed his other friends. Narcissa was unable to join them, though she left Dilly with strict instructions to make sure the children bought all their school equipment, rather than getting distracted by things like “that shiny new broom.” That had sent Draco into a tangent, of course, about the improvements of the Nimbus 2001 from the previous year’s model. Harry quite liked his Nimbus 2000, and didn’t see the point in buying a new broom when his current one worked just fine – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire its statistics.

They all met up in the Leaky Cauldron, for convenience. Daphne was the last to arrive, and when she finally did they all found out why – Daphne had not come alone.

“Hello everyone,” she greeted with her customary hair flip. “I trust you had good holidays.”

“Who is that?” Millicent asked bluntly, ignoring the pleasantries (as she usually did).

Harry had not seen the other girl at first, trailing behind Daphne as she was. She was small, a wisp of a thing, with wide green eyes and blonde hair in two neat plaits. Her features matched Daphne’s almost exactly, and yet it struck Harry that they looked nothing alike. Daphne Greengrass had the arrogant tilt to her chin that most rich purebloods carried – she walked with the confidence of someone who knew without doubt that she would always get her way. The stranger, on the other hand, hid behind her mirror image even while they were standing still, and clasped their hands together so tightly the knuckles of her small, delicate hands turned white.

Daphne, Harry noticed, was clutching back just as tightly.

“Oh how I’ve missed your impeccable manners, Millicent,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “This is my sister, Astoria. She’s going to be a firstie at Hogwarts this year, so she’ll be staying with us until she settles in. Though _you_ , Blaise, are not to talk to her unless absolutely necessary.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because you’re a terrible influence.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“Shall we head out?” Tracey interrupted, before Blaise could escalate the situation. “We’ll want to get our supplies quickly.”

“And then to Fortescue’s?” Pansy suggested. “They have a new flavour in, did you hear? And it’s the perfect weather for ice cream.”

“And we need to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies,” said Draco.

Pansy groaned. “Why?”

Millicent looked at her like she’d just said she wanted to go swimming with the Giant Squid. “Because of the Nimbus 2001, of course!”

“I’ll never understand this fuss over a sport,” Daphne sighed.

Pansy nodded. “Me neither. It’s just a broom, Millie.”

Millicent glared at her. “My name is Millicent!”

“Whatever you say, Millie dear.”

Harry smiled at their bickering, before turning to the rest of the group. “Time to go, I think.”

“Good idea,” Tracey said, rubbing her forehead, before leading them out into the Alley.

 

With both Tracey and Dilly rushing them along like a pair of mother hens, the shopping for school supplies took surprisingly little time. Before Harry knew it, all they had left was-

“Flourish and Blotts,” Tracey read from her list. “But this is strange – I noticed it when I first read the letter. Nearly all of our books are written by the same person.”

“Yeah, I meant to ask,” Harry frowned, recalling the author from his own list of books. “Who is Gilderoy Lockhart?”

Daphne gasped. Pansy’s jaw dropped in shock.

“You don’t know Gilderoy Lockhart?”

Harry shook his head tentatively. “I haven’t come across him in my reading before.”

“And for good reason,” Millicent rolled her eyes. “The guy’s a fraud.”

“He is not!” Pansy protested with horror on her face. “He’s amazing! And brave, and clever, and…” She trailed off dreamily.

“And very, very handsome,” Daphne finished for her, the same love-struck look in her eyes.

Millicent made a noise of disgust.

“You don’t think much of him then?” Blaise asked her with a hint of a smirk.

“No,” Millicent replied shortly. “His books are filled with mistakes – only half of it makes sense, and he’s so arrogant that even if it _was_ readable you wouldn’t want to read it anyway.”

“His books do seem a little… implausible,” Tracey admitted, still frowning down at her list.

 “Is that his autobiography?” Draco asked with a grimace. “ _Magical Me_? Why is that a school book?”

“Because he’s going to be our teacher,” said Theodore.

Everyone went quiet.

“ _What?_ ” Millicent asked through gritted teeth.

Theodore’s face was as blank as usual. “He’s our new Defence teacher.”

“You’re joking.” Even Blaise looked shocked. “Is he even qualified?”

“Of course he is!” Pansy snapped. “You’d know that if you read his books.”

“Sorry Pansy,” Blaise shrugged. “But I really couldn’t stomach it.”

“How do you know that, Theo?” Daphne asked.

Theo just shrugged.

Tracey sighed, finally putting her school list away. “Maybe he’ll be an alright teacher.”

Millicent snorted, and muttered something rude under her breath.

“Oh you’ve got to be joking,” Draco said suddenly.

Harry looked at him. “What?”

Draco pointed. Harry stared. Flourish and Blotts stood ahead of them, but Harry couldn’t even see the store beyond the huge crowd of people packed in and against it. A tall sign resting precariously on top of the store read: _GILDEROY LOCKHART – EXCLUSIVE BOOK SIGNING!_

Harry took another glance down at the throng of people, and swallowed nervously. “Maybe we should come back later.”

Tracey was already shaking her head. “It’ll be like this all day. We just need to get it over with.”

“Well,” Daphne flicked her hair over her shoulder and tugged the still silent Astoria a little closer to her side. “Come on, then.”

With that, she led the way into the store.

 

Harry didn’t like crowds. He didn’t like the loudness, or the heat, or the claustrophobic atmosphere. Flourish and Blotts was all of that, and Harry hated it.

Above all the shouting and chatter was the voice of the man who Harry guessed was Gilderoy Lockhart – via use of a voice amplifying charm, Harry thought, maybe _sonorous_. He went through everything he had read about that charm in his head, trying to keep his attention away from the nightmare surrounding him while also focussing on keeping his fingers tight in Blaise’s jacket in front of him. The only thing worse than being in a crowd was being lost and alone in a crowd.

It was going alright at the beginning – Tracey would lead their little train of people to each section of the store to collect their books, while Pansy and Daphne (with Astoria tucked tightly into her side) would try and peek above the crowd to catch a glimpse of Lockhart at every opportunity. Harry didn’t really have to do anything except not get lost.

They were heading towards the bored looking cashier (who had little to do while everyone else was fawning over the celebrity) when it all had to go wrong. Because this was Harry’s life, and since when had it been an easy ride?

“Hadrian Potter!” called the loudest voice in the room.

Harry was fully intending on ignoring the clear summons and rushing out of the store as fast as he could, but of course that would have been too good to be true. A reporter with a shiny _Daily Prophet_ badge grabbed Harry’s arm roughly, shoving him up through the crowd until he was tugged into the side of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Nice big smile, Hadrian,” Lockhart said under his breath and through a smarmy grin. “Together, you and I rate the front page.”

Harry didn’t really hear him. That was another reason he hated crowds – he didn’t like being touched, not by adults and especially not by strangers. Gilderoy Lockhart’s hand was warm where it clutched at his shoulder and his robes smelled like too much expensive cologne and he _wasn’t letting Harry go._

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Lockhart continued, oblivious to Harry’s panic. “What an extraordinary moment this is! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts this morning to purchase my autobiography, _Magical Me_ – which, incidentally, is celebrating its twenty-seventh week atop the _Daily Prophet_ ’s Bestseller List – he had no idea that he would, in fact, be leaving with my entire collected works – free of charge!”

Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t understand the words coming out of Lockhart’s mouth, couldn’t think-

“Let go of him, you creep!”

There was another hand on his arm and he was being tugged, away from Lockhart, away from the crowd, until he looked up and the sun was shining and he realised he was no longer inside.

“Millicent!” Daphne sounded scandalised. “What was that?”

“That arrogant prick was freaking Harry out!” Millicent snapped back. “What did you expect me to do? Leave him there?”

“Shut up!” Blaise ordered, before turning to look Harry directly in the eye. “Remember to breathe, Harry.”

Harry breathed.

“Good,” Blaise said calmly. “Just focus on your breathing.”

Eventually, the world returned. There was someone else by his side, a hand in his own. Harry squeezed. Draco squeezed back.

“Are you alright now, Harry?” asked Draco.

Harry nodded. As the panic and anxiety seeped out of his system, the shame flooded in. There had been cameras in there. Tomorrow, his panic attack would be all over the _Daily Prophet_. Because he couldn’t keep it together in front of one damn crowd.

He wanted to cry. He didn’t.

“Where are the others?” he asked, when he trusted his voice again.

“Tracey and Theo stayed inside to buy the books,” Pansy informed him. She looked worried.

Harry tried to give her a smile, but Pansy didn’t seem all that reassured.

“Hadrian?”

Harry looked down. Astoria Greengrass looked up at him. She didn’t even reach his shoulders.

“Yes, Astoria?” Harry replied, as kindly as he could.

She gave him a solemn stare, her large green eyes unafraid. “I don’t like them either,” she said, and gave him a hug.

 

They waited for Theo and Tracey in the alleyway they’d ducked into after Harry’s panic attack. Daphne had continued scolding Millicent once they realised he was okay, but that hadn’t lasted long.

“Honestly, the lack of decorum,” Daphne had huffed. “Your father is going to be furious.”

Millicent clenched her jaw. “You don’t know anything about my parents. Don’t bring them up again.”

Daphne watched her carefully for a moment, but ultimately decided to let it lie. Harry thought it was a wise choice – Millicent was a cranky person in general, but he had never seen her look as angry as she did when Daphne mentioned her father. He got the feeling it was a very, very sensitive subject.

Surprisingly enough, however, it wasn’t Theo and Tracey that talked to them next.

“Heya, Hadrian!” the Weasley twins had called in unison as they passed the alley. “That Lockhart’s a bit of an ass, yeah?”

Harry gave them a small smile. “Yeah.”

They winked at him. “We’ll keep that in mind for this year.”

“Always looking for a new target, aren’t we Georgie?” said Fred.

“That we are Freddie,” said George.

They each gave him a two-fingered salute. “See you around, Hadrian!”

There was a girl with bright red hair – another Weasley, Harry guessed – standing behind them, who lingered after they walked away. Harry gave her a smile, but she just turned red, and quickly ran after her brothers.

“You know the Weasley twins?” Pansy asked incredulously. “I thought you hated that lot.”

Harry shrugged. “I hate Ron. The twins are alright. I’ve never met the rest of them.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “They’re blood traitors.”

“What have I told you about how I feel about that stuff, Pansy?” Harry sighed. “Blood might matter to you guys, but it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Might come in handy, anyway,” said Millicent, before things could get too awkward. “Having the Weasley twins on your side, that is. Didn’t you hear what they said about Lockhart? They’re going to kick his ass this year, because he was a creep to you.”

Harry just shrugged again. They were probably going to prank Lockhart anyway, just for being Lockhart. He doubted it had anything to do with him.

 

Harry didn’t really feel like going to get ice cream after the fiasco in Flourish and Blotts, so he made his excuses and returned to the Leaky Cauldron, waving off his friends’ concern. Aside from Lockhart, the day had been lots of fun. And in just a week, he’d be back at Hogwarts, and he’d get to catch up with Neville and Hermione, even if Lockhart was going to be teaching them Defence. Harry fell into bed that night happy. He couldn’t wait to go back to Hogwarts – to go back home.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to school!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's really short, I'm sorry :( I've been having a little trouble creatively speaking, and I just wanted to get SOMETHING up, y'know? So, just a filler chapter really, I'm sorry, but I hope it's better than nothing! Also, side note: I am fully in love with Astoria as a character (at least the way she is in my head for this universe, lol) so expect a fair involvement of her in upcoming chapters/stories. Ok! Hopefully you enjoy this (incredibly short) chapter! <3

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not, Harry discovered, a view that diminished with time. A year later and the formidable sight still took his breath away – the castle rising from the mist of the Black Lake; the Astronomy Tower standing guard, tall and imposing; even the greenhouses, which usually seemed so benevolent, appeared menacing as they materialised out of the dark.

The carriages were a new experience, however. First years were taken across the Black Lake via magical rowboats, but second years and above were taken around in carriages drawn by sets of peculiar creatures. Harry started when he saw them, and for once did not berate himself for it. The beasts were hideous, horse-like in form but with all the flesh seemingly stripped from blackened bones. He noted Blaise and Theo staring too, but Daphne cut him off before he could ask what they were. She was furious the whole ride there – Astoria, as a first year, was unable to accompany them beyond the train, and so was forced to be separated from her elder sister until they reached Hogwarts. Harry couldn’t really empathise with Daphne’s anger, but he thought maybe he could understand a little. If he had a younger sibling as small and quiet as Astoria, he doubted he’d want to leave them on their own either.

To Daphne’s obvious relief, _Greengrass, Astoria_ was sorted into Slytherin after very little time beneath the Sorting Hat. The tiny girl seemed even tinier walking the length of the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, and even Harry felt a little reassured once Astoria was safely at her sister’s side. Daphne herself calmed immediately.

“I knew you’d be in Slytherin,” Daphne stated, flicking her hair just a touch too forcefully to seem casual. “Just like me. It’s the best house, after all.”

Astoria nodded solemnly in response.

The rest of the Sorting was mostly uneventful. Harry didn’t recognise any other new students, bar one. _Weasley, Ginevra_ – the girl who had been trailing after the twins in Diagon Alley – was very decisively placed in Gryffindor. Fred and George seemed to have used some sort of charm on their voices, as when they cheered for her, it was so loud that even the Slytherins on the other end of the Hall winced and covered their ears. The twins gave Harry a wink when he caught their eye, and pointed towards Lockhart. The new Defence teacher’s face had gone an alarming shade of purple – their shrieking had affected him especially. Harry grinned at the sight. He got the feeling it was going to be a very good year.

 

Harry didn’t get to catch up with either of his other friends until the next day. The second year was kicking off with a double Herbology period, which the Slytherins and Gryffindors shared, so Harry made sure to grab a seat next to Neville. Draco grimaced behind him, but sat down on his other side anyway.

“H-Hey, Harry!” Neville gave him a smile. Harry chose to ignore the way the Gryffindor’s eyes flickered nervously behind him to Draco’s sullen form.

“Hey, Neville. How were your holidays?”

The other boy brightened immediately. “Great! My gran got me a whole lot of seeds, including these Leaping Toadstools, which are actually really interesting because they can jump up to a foot in the air! I’ve planted them already and they’re growing really well. We’re actually studying them this year, I think.” Neville took a breath, flushing. “Sorry. Erm, how were yours?”

Harry shrugged. “Alright.”

Neville’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh, Merlin. Harry I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Neville, really.”

The Gryffindor looked like he was about to apologise again, but Professor Sprout had apparently decided they’d had enough time to catch up.

“Alright class, plenty of time for chatter later,” she announced, tapping her wand against a stack of empty pots. “Welcome to Greenhouse Three, second years. Today, we will be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who here can tell me the properties of a Mandrake?”

Neville mumbled an answer under his breath, seemingly automatically – but he wasn’t quiet enough.

“Mr Longbottom?” Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows. “A little louder, please.”

Neville went bright red. “I- uh, it’s used for transfigurations, P-Professor. To reverse transfigurations.”

“Very good,” Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. “And?”

If Neville’s blush got any brighter, Harry mused, he may have become able to glow in the dark.

“It- It’s also known as Mandragora. And if-,” he took a deep breath to steady himself. “If you hear it scream, it can cause- can cause death.”

“Excellent,” the plump witch gave him a wide smile. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Nice one, Neville,” Harry murmured, but Neville just seemed to blush harder.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings,” Professor Sprout continued, “Their cries won’t kill you yet. However, they _will_ knock you out for several hours, which is why I have provided each of you with a pair of earmuffs. If you would put them on for me... Very good. Now, let me demonstrate.”

She lifted a small potted plant onto the bench in front of her, took a deep breath, grabbed the plant’s tufted top, flexed her fingers and _tugged_.

 _‘Well that’s one question answered,’_ Harry thought hazily through the Mandrake’s scream piercing through his earmuffs. The sound was familiar – it seemed the twins had managed to replicate the creature's screech for the Opening Feast prank, if with less dangerous consequences.

Opposite Harry, Pansy looked like she was going to be sick.

She turned to Daphne on her left, and Harry read her lips very clearly as she complained, “It’s _disgusting_!”

Honestly, Harry couldn’t blame her. The Mandrake looked like some sort of monstrous, shrieking baby, deformed and covered in mud. They weren’t graced with the sight of it for long, though, because as soon as Sprout had heaved it free from one pot she dumped it in another, and covered it in dirt.

The screaming lessened immediately. Professor Sprout gestured for them to remove their earmuffs, and beamed.

“See? Easy.”

Neville was swaying dangerously on Harry’s right.

“Neville? Are you alright?”

“Um-” His voice was higher than usual.

Harry placed one hand on his shoulder. “Hey – Neville, breathe.”

“I- I’m alright. I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I just- I’ve read about Mandrakes, I’ve never-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I’m alright.”

Harry considered him carefully, but eventually let it go. If he kept a closer eye on Neville than on any of his other friends that period, well – that was just a precaution.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Colin Creevey, experiences his first lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart, and is bullied by Draco and Adrian (not really).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Mental health hit in a bad way. I needed to give myself time to recover and I realise it's been a while, so. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you all, again, for your comments and kudos. They mean a lot to me <3

No less than two days into the school year, Harry was ambushed. He was walking with Hermione to their shared Defence class when a flurry of blond hair attached to an eager grin catapulted itself in front of him. Upon further inspection, it became apparent that there was a small child hidden behind these features – a small, _Gryffindor_ child.

“Heya, Harry!” the first year says quickly, before a white flash blinds Harry’s vision. He takes a step back automatically, but the little stranger just follows him.

“I’m Colin Creevey! Can I call you Harry? I’m in Gryffindor, but I’m going to talk to Professor Dumbledore and see if I can come to Slytherin, wouldn’t that be fantastic?” Colin beamed.

“Uh,” Harry said, eloquently.

Colin didn’t appear to notice. “They’re for my dad – the pictures. He’s a milkman, you know, a Muggle, like all our family’s been until me. No one knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till we got my letter from Hogwarts. Everyone just thought I was mental.”

“Hermione’s family are Muggles, too,” Harry said quickly, ignoring Hermione’s subsequent glare. The diversion didn’t work – in fact, Harry suspected that once again, Colin hadn’t even noticed.

“Say, Harry – do you think your friend could take a photo of me and you standing together? You know, to prove I’ve met you?”

Hermione did not look at all pleased to be referred to simply as ‘Harry’s friend’, and was opening her mouth to say so, when the most unlikely of saviours came upon them.

“Ah, Harry!” Gilderoy Lockhart – pardon, _Professor_ Lockhart – slapped a hand down on Harry’s shoulder in enthusiastic greeting. Harry briefly considered hexing that hand with a particularly painful stinging jinx – but the consequences, unfortunately, would most likely outweigh the reward.

“I see you’re already building your fan club,” Lockhart laughed. Harry watched himself enact the hex in his mind. “Nowhere near as big as mine of course, but not to worry, little protégé – you’ll learn.”

“Hello, Professor,” Hermione greeted awkwardly. There was an odd flush on her cheeks. “Isn’t it time for class?”

“That it is, Miss- uh, what was your name again?”

“Granger, sir. Hermione Granger.”

“Right, that it is Miss Gremmer,” Lockhart continued. “Off we go!”

He pranced off while the students lingered behind, all looking a touch confused.

“Did he say-”

“Yep,” Harry nodded.

Hermione frowned. “ _Gremmer?”_

“Yep.”

Her frown deepened. “Perhaps Bulstrode was right about him.”

Harry just shook his head, and led the way after their new teacher.

 

Millicent, as it turned out, wasn’t really correct about Gilderoy Lockhart. He wasn’t as bad as she’d said – he was _worse_.

After spending the first ten minutes talking about his five consecutive wins of _Witch Weekly_ ’s Most Charming Smile Award, he proceeded to quiz the awaiting students on his favourite subject – himself. Pansy and Daphne both excelled at the topic, much to Millicent’s disgust and the rest of Slytherin’s grudging appreciation. After all, points are points, regardless of how they’re attained.

Then, to top off a truly enlightening first class, he introduced them to their first creature of the year.

“Be warned, students,” Lockhart began, with the sort of voice Harry could imagine on one of Petunia’s game shows. “It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. You may find yourself facing your own worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here.” He turned, and with a flick of his wand, levitated a cage from behind his desk to the centre of the room. “I must ask you not to scream,” he warned gleefully. “It might provoke them.”

Lockhart surveyed the class with a gleam in his eye and, seeing them all suitably on edge, whipped the cloth covering the cage to one side, revealing-

“Cornish pixies?” a tall Ravenclaw boy asked (Goldstein, Harry thought). He looked uncertain.

“Freshly caught Cornish pixies!” Lockhart corrected triumphantly. “Devilish little tricksters. Let’s see what you make of them!”

That, of course, is when he decided to release said pixies, and subsequently, when it all went to Hell.

The remaining twenty minutes of the class were a mess. Both sides of the classroom, Slytherin and Ravenclaw, banded together in an unusual and impressive display of school unity to spell the creatures back into submission after Lockhart abandoned them (though Harry noticed Vince and Greg in one corner, attempting to punch a trio of pixies for trying to steal their cupcakes). Harry and Hermione ended up back to back, stilling whole groups of pixies at a time with a widened _petrificus totalus_ charm. Even with the modified spell, however, it was a gruelling process, and by the end of it all there was not a student in the class who had anything kind left to say about their new professor – not even Pansy or Daphne.

“That absolute _arse_ ,” Pansy fumed, inspecting a tear in her robe. “These were brand new!”

“Oh Merlin,” Daphne wailed, “Look at my _hair_!”

Hermione began packing up her remaining books with a huff. “I hardly think hair and robes are the biggest problems right now.”

Daphne sneered at her. “I don’t recall asking for your worthless opinion, Mudblood.”

“Daphne!” Harry snapped.

“Just telling the truth, Potter,” she said, flicking her hair, before storming away with Pansy still grumbling at her side.

Tracey and Millicent were collecting themselves by the door, and watched them pass in confusion, but Harry didn’t bother responding to their questioning stares, because Hermione had gone red. Her eyes were suspiciously wet.

Harry went to apologise on Daphne’s behalf, but Blaise, Draco, and Theo were already picking their way across the ruined classroom towards them.

“What’s got their panties in a twist?” Blaise asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that we were just _ambushed_ with Cornish pixies?” Draco replied sarcastically. He picked at his robes, annoyed. “That bloody incompetent fool.”

Harry wasn’t really paying attention, watching Hermione carefully as he was, so he caught the exact moment when she couldn’t take it anymore. She released a quiet, choked sound, and promptly ran away.

Harry made to follow, but a quiet voice stopped him.

“I’ll talk to her,” said Theo.

Harry raised a brow, but the other boy was already gone. Harry let him go. He didn’t think Theo would hurt Hermione in any way, and if he did – well, Boy Who Lived or not, Harry wasn’t averse to a little revenge.

Blaise stared after them, confused. “Am I missing something here?”

“Who cares,” Draco huffed irritably. “Let’s just get back to the Common Room. I refuse to go to lunch in tattered robes.”

 

Halfway through lunch, Hermione and Theo arrived – together – to walk to their respective tables. Most of the school stared at a Slytherin and a Muggleborn walking alongside each other, but if either of them cared, they didn’t show it. Theo settled in opposite Harry (who was as far from Daphne as he could get), unsurprisingly non-expressive.

Harry examined him with a cautious eye. He had a lot of questions – what Theo had said to get Hermione looking relaxed after her tearfulness earlier, how Theo had known what to say, why he had even cared – but none of that, if Harry was honest, was really his business.

So instead, he simply asked, “Is everything alright?”

Theo looked at him. His eyes gave away nothing, but he nodded, and that combined with Hermione’s new (if probably temporary) carefree attitude was enough for Harry. He nodded back, and returned to his lunch.

 

“Harry! Come look!” Draco tugged on his arm until Harry looked up from his Potions textbook. Two weeks into the term and Snape was already giving them full essays as homework – how was that even allowed?

“What?” Harry asked.

“Haven’t you checked the notice board?” Draco was still pulling at him excitedly. “Quidditch try-outs have been announced for this Friday!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why do I need to go see it if you’ve just told me?”

Really, Harry just didn’t want to move from his incredibly comfortable spot next to the fire in the Common Room, but he didn’t say that out loud – he didn’t care to be laughed at on such a fine day.

“Merlin, Harry,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You could muster up a little enthusiasm. Aren’t you going to try out for the team? I certainly am. And Father said if I make the team he’ll buy us all brand new Nimbus 2001s!”

“That’s impressive,” Harry said, because it was what Draco wanted to hear. “But I really don’t know about joining the team. I mean, I like flying, but…”

“But what?” Millicent interrupted from where she sat on the floor, playing with her cat, Sabre. “From how much Blaise and Draco talk about it, you’re certainly good enough.”

“Well you like Quidditch too, Millicent,” Harry diverted. “Why don’t you try out?”

Millicent snorted. Sabre started at the sound, but soon went back to attacking the charmed string above him.

“Just because I like Quidditch doesn’t mean I have any interest in getting on a damn broom in front of the whole school,” she said. “I’m fine just watching, thanks.”

“Well, what if I’m just fine watching too?”

“But you’d be so good!” Draco whined. “Come on, just come to try-outs with me, Harry. Please?”

“Hadrian Potter, don’t tell me you’re thinking of not going to try-outs?”

Harry looked up at the familiar voice. “You think I should?”

Adrian Pucey stared at him incredulously. “Of course I do. Don’t think I forgot our game last year – you’re going to be our new seeker, kid, I told you.”

Harry flushed. “I mean, I just thought-”

“Malfoy, you get him to the pitch on Friday if you have to drag him there, understood? And did I hear you talking about Nimbus 2001s?”

Draco looked ecstatic at being talked to by Slytherin’s best chaser and the future captain of the Quidditch team, but he tried to keep his cool. “Yeah. My father said if I get on the team, he’ll get us new brooms – Nimbus 2001s, for every player!”

Adrian immediately looked far more interested in the Malfoy heir than he had previously, and nodded. “I expect to see you there, too, then.”

Draco practically glowed. It sounded like a bribe to Harry, but it wasn’t hurting anyone, and if it made Draco happy, then – why ruin that?

“Did you hear that, Harry?” The other boy practically jumped on him once Adrian had left. “He wants me to try for the team!”

Harry gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that’s awesome Draco.”

Millicent scoffed from beside the fire, but Draco was too excited to care, and a glare from Harry made her mime zipping her lips.

Harry let himself get caught up in Draco’s enthusiasm, putting his textbook down. It was a fine day. Even with the tenseness still apparent between Daphne, Pansy, and Harry (because Daphne refused to apologise for insulting Hermione, Pansy refused to leave her best friend’s side, and Harry refused to back down until Hermione got her apology) – Draco was happy, the Common Room was warm, and Harry felt calm.

 _Maybe Dobby was wrong_ , Harry thought. _I think this year’s going to be just fine._


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slytherin Team Quidditch try-outs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, unfortunately, but I wanted to fit a lot into the next one, so. Hopefully you still enjoy this filler!

“Listen up, Slytherins,” Marcus Flint snarled. “You think you’ve got what it takes to win? Fine. But if any of you waste my time today with some pathetic attempt at riding a broom, you’ll be off this pitch and into detention before you can blink. Got it? Now line up!”

Harry shifted in his borrowed Quidditch gear, fingers tapping his Nimbus 2000 anxiously as he filed into place.

Draco elbowed him in the side. “Stop fidgeting,” he hissed. “You’ll be fine.”

Despite Draco’s confident words, Harry could feel the other boy shaking. Across from them, Adrian Pucey nodded in acknowledgement. It may have been meant in comfort – knowing Adrian, Harry thought it unlikely, but it would have been nice.

He resisted looking at the stands. Hermione and Neville were there, he knew, and Harry’s Slytherin friends – even, to his surprise, Daphne and Pansy. Daphne, of course, would be inspecting her nails and pretending not to be interested in the older boys trying out, while Pansy would be waiting eagerly for a particularly nasty injury.

Their presence was an olive branch that Harry would not accept – until Hermione got her apology, he refused to be friends with them.

Harry turned his attention back to the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. Marcus Flint was stalking down the line, inspecting the prospective players and taking down positions. One Chaser, Seeker, and two Beaters were needed to complete the line-up, and Flint appeared to be very serious about finding his perfect team. Flint wasn’t exactly known for his intelligence – there was even a rumour that he was part troll, which would certainly explain his massive, hulking stature. Harry thought he looked more like a Beater than a Chaser, but he had seen Flint play. He was deceptively fast in the air, and what he lacked in academic intelligence he made up with Quidditch strategy. He had also reached Harry in the line, and sneered down at him.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

Harry’s fingers tightened around his broom. “Trying out, Captain. For Seeker.”

Flint snorted, but thankfully moved on, and soon enough it was time to set up. Harry noted that the opposite team contained not just Draco as a prospective Chaser, but also the two pre-existing Chasers – Flint and Adrian, rather than any of the other new students. As a Seeker, he ordinarily wouldn’t be interacting with the opposite Chasers very much, but still. He doubted it was an accident. Flint’s dislike of Muggleborns and Half-bloods was common knowledge.

Harry pushed the Chasers from his mind, focusing instead on the other Seeker. Terence Higgs had played as Seeker last year, and so normally would have maintained the position by default until Flint graduated and Adrian took over as Captain, but Higgs’ Potions scores had been so awful he’d been replaced mid-year, by order of Professor Snape. The replacement Seeker had been a seventh year, and so now the position was up for grabs once again.

Down below, Miles Bletchley (the current Keeper) called the game with a whistle and a strong throw of the Quaffle, and Harry’s thoughts retreated in the way of rapid fire instinct.

Competing against players with actual experience was, as Harry had predicted, intensely difficult. He remembered clearly his one v one with Adrian last Christmas holidays. If that had been tiring, then this was nothing short of _gruelling_. Harry was exhausted by the end of his first round, but pleased – he had just barely beaten Higgs to the snitch, meaning he would sit out the next trial match, and play the winning Seeker in the finals. The winning Seeker turned out to be a sixth year Harry wasn’t familiar with, by the name of Wynona Ecklehurt. She was lean and fierce looking, nearly twice Harry’s height. On a positive note though, Draco informed him (still riding cloud nine at having been given the Chaser position after the first match), Flint and Ecklehurt had dated the previous year. Ecklehurt had broken up with Flint, rather publicly, and broken his nose while she was at it (though no one seemed certain why). The point being, Draco continued, it was impossible that Flint was harbouring positive feelings towards Ecklehurt after that stint.

Harry supposed that was true. It didn’t make facing the other aspiring Seeker on the pitch any less terrifying.

Wynona Ecklehurt was faster than Higgs had been, and meaner too. Harry counted several fouls to his person during the game – none of which were noted by Flint, of course – but it wasn’t enough. Harry spotted the Snitch, and the other Seeker was too far away to do anything about it. He swooped into a dive, and snatched the golden ball out of the air. The manoeuvre signalled the end of the match – and the last try-out.

Flint continued to sneer in an alarmingly Snape-like fashion as the players landed in slightly shaky formation. Ecklehurt crashed next to Harry with a snarl, slamming her broom into the ground next to her with more force than necessary.

“Everyone with me,” Flint snapped, waiting with a glare for the resting players to join Harry and the others. Once they were all together, Flint wasted no time. “New line-up is this: Chasers are myself, Pucey, and Malfoy. Keeper is Bletchley. Beaters are Derrick and Bole. Seeker…” he paused to look at Harry with disgust. “Seeker is Potter.”

Ecklehurt swore loudly. Harry supposed she was betting that Flint would hate his Muggleborn mother more than the way she had humiliated Flint the previous year. Harry had been betting on that too, if he was honest. Apparently, they had both bet wrong.

“Players, practices will be posted in the Common Room. The rest of you, stay out of the way during practice. I won’t have you distracting my team. Now, get lost. Malfoy, stay behind.”

The crowd shuffled away to the locker rooms, the victorious with whoops and shouts, the defeated with murmured condolences. Harry lingered nearby to wait for Draco. He caught the words ‘Nimbus 2001’ before his friends met him on the pitch.

“Merlin, Harry,” Millicent exclaimed with exhilaration – the most excited Harry had ever seen her, as if she had been flying herself. “Draco wasn’t kidding, you fly like a professional!”

Harry blushed. He hoped the flush from the match disguised it. “Thanks, Millicent. Ecklehurt was really good, too.”

“Oh be quiet, Potter,” Blaise rolled his eyes. “You could outfly her any day.”

“Ecklehurt _was_ good,” Tracey said fairly. “But you were better, Harry, it was obvious. I mean, even to me.”

Hermione wasn’t paying attention. “What’s that about?” She asked curiously, watching Draco talking animatedly with Flint.

Neville nudged her meaningfully.

“What? Oh! Right, you were amazing Harry!”

Harry laughed. “Thanks, Hermione. They’re probably just talking about the Nimbus 2001s.”

“A broomstick?”

Millicent snorted. “Not just _a_ broomstick. Draco’s dad’s buying the whole team Nimbus 2001s since Draco made Chaser.”

Hermione looked aghast. “But that’s bribery! Is that allowed?”

“Technically not, but…” Tracey shrugged. She didn’t seem all that bothered.

“ _But_ , Draco’s father is on the Board of Governors, _and_ a highly influential Ministry member. The rules don’t apply to him,” said Daphne, flicking her hair behind one shoulder. “Congratulations by the way, Potter.”

Harry pointedly stared in the opposite direction.

Daphne sighed. “Oh for Merlin’s sake.” She turned to a startled Hermione with a determined look. “I’m sorry, Granger. There. Are you happy now, Hadrian?”

Harry looked at Hermione. She shook of her shock, and gave him a small smile. He turned back to Daphne. Pansy was wide-eyed next to her, gaze flicking quickly between him and her best friend.

“Yes, thank you, Daphne,” Harry said, and let himself smile.

Daphne smiled back, and the tension dissipated.

“Oh, thank Salazar!” Pansy cried dramatically. “You lot have been insufferable! Congratulations by the way Harry, you’re a great flyer.”

“You weren’t even watching him,” Millicent pointed out scornfully. “You were watching Damien Derrick the whole time, it was painfully obvious.”

Pansy sniffed. “Just enjoying the view, Millie.”

Millicent immediately set off in a tirade, leaving Tracey to try and separate them while the others watched: Blaise and Daphne in amusement, and Neville and Hermione in concern. Theo took the opportunity to come up and pat Harry on the back in his own silent form of congratulations, before making his way over to Hermione’s side.

Harry noted the movement. That was developing into something very interesting.

Draco jogged up beside him, bemused by the vision before him. “What did I miss?”

Harry shook his head with a smile. “Just the usual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Quidditch try out info is taken from the internet, as are most of the players' names.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hears voices - well, ONE voice - and he and Draco have their first Quidditch match.

Harry didn’t know how he’d managed to get roped into spending the night with Gilderoy Lockhart of all people, and yet there he was. He had a sneaking suspicion it was Blaise and Daphne’s idea of a joke – a joke he did _not_ appreciate.

“Ah, Harry, Harry, Harry,” Lockhart smiled at him, signing his name onto a glossy photo of himself with a flourish. “Can you possibly imagine a better way to spend your night than by helping me answer my fanmail?”

Harry imagined strangling him, and returned the smile. “No, Professor.”

“Of course, it’s wonderful practice for you,” Lockhart continued. “There’s a lot you can learn from me, Harry. Fame is a fickle friend. Celebrity is as celebrity does – remember that.”

“That’s very good advice, Professor,” said Harry. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘thank you’.

_“Come… Come to me…”_

Harry’s head snapped up in surprise. “What?”

“I was saying, six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records, you know.”

“No, not you- uh, sir,” Harry looked around them in confusion. He was sure he’d heard a voice. “Didn’t you hear that?”

Lockhart gave him a bemused glance. “Hear what?”

Harry hesitated. “Never mind. I think I must just be getting tired – you know, I’d better be off to bed, Professor.” He stood quickly.

“Oh, already? Ah, but look at the time! Dinner’s almost done! Spooky how time flies when one’s having fun, isn’t it?”

Harry flashed him a polite smile, slung his bag over one shoulder, and hurried away. He was _certain_ he had heard a voice, and it’s not like he could trust Lockhart to have heard anything over the sound of his own arrogant rambling.

The corridors were empty and shadowed with the students off at dinner. Harry kept his footsteps as quiet as possible against the stone and listened carefully.

_“Blood… I smell blood…”_

Harry froze. He spun on one foot, but there was no one there – he was alone.

_“Let me rip you… Let me kill you…”_

“The walls,” Harry breathed. The voice was coming from the walls.

He moved quickly, following the murderous whispers around the castle, fingers to stone and an urgency building in his chest, moving faster and faster until-

“Harry!”

“Did you hear that?” Harry barely noticed Blaise and Draco steadying him, so focused was he on the need to find whatever was whispering that was tightening his chest.

“Hear what? Harry, are you alright?” Draco asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“That voice!”

“What voice?”

Harry spun away from them, still frantic. “In the walls, the voice! I heard it in Lockhart’s office and then again just-”

_“Kill… Time to kill…”_

Harry stiffened. “It’s moving. Come on!”

He sprinted away, chasing the voice through empty corridors and up a staircase, taking the steps three at a time before he skidded to a stop when he saw it.

Draco and Blaise came up behind him seconds later, both beyond confused.

“Harry, what are you _doing?_ ”

Harry just pointed.

The second floor was flooded with water, and on the wall above lay a message, written as if in blood.

**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.**

**ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE.**

“Is that…” Draco cut himself off with a gasp.

“Mrs Norris,” Blaise finished solemnly. “That’s Mrs Norris.”

Hanging from a light fixture beneath the threatening message was indeed Filch’s cat, stiff, her yellow eyes wide.

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t know,” Blaise replied. “But we need to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t we get a teacher?” Harry asked. His voice didn’t seem to be his own. The world felt like a dream.

“What we should do is leave before someone sees us,” Blaise said firmly. “Most of the school already hates Slytherins, and with the Chamber of Secrets involved we can’t be seen here. Come on.”

Harry felt himself being dragged away, though it seemed absent to his mind. A cluster of spiders scurried in formation to escape out a window as they passed.

 

“Not that that isn’t scary, but aren’t any of you confused? What on Earth is the ‘Chamber of Secrets’?”

“Oh, Granger,” Blaise rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I almost forget you’re a Muggleborn.”

Hermione glared, and waited impatiently for one of them to answer her question.

Harry, Blaise, Draco, Hermione, and Neville were huddled together in a back corner of the library the morning after the Mrs Norris incident. Dumbledore had announced at breakfast that the cat had simply been petrified (to the sound of Filch’s very loud sobs), and that if anyone knew anything about the event, or the message left on the wall, they should speak to a teacher immediately.

So, of course, Harry had gone to his closest friends.

“The Chamber of Secrets was created by Salazar Slytherin when the founders built the school,” Draco explained with a sigh at Hermione’s ignorance. “But he closed it and hid the entrance when he was cast out. It’s said he hid some sort of monster in there, but no one knows what.”

“Which means the ‘heir’ is…”

“The Heir of Slytherin. Surely you’ve read about this, Granger,” Blaise drawled. “Aren’t you _Hogwarts: A History_ ’s biggest fan?”

Hermione flushed. “It’s not mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History_ , Zabini. At least, not by name.”

“But, that doesn’t explain what the- the voice was,” Neville interrupted. “I mean, what was it you heard, Harry?”

Harry sighed. “It was saying it wanted to kill.”

“But Mrs Norris wasn’t killed, just petrified,” Hermione pointed out.

“Plus, she’s a cat,” Blaise said. “For statements so murderous you’d expect it to have gone after a human.”

“Do you think we should tell a teacher?” Harry mused. “About the voice, I mean.”

“Absolutely not!” Draco exclaimed.

“Are you serious?” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“No!” Neville and Hermione replied in unison.

Harry raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright!”

Hermione shook her head. “Even in the Wizarding World, Harry, hearing voices isn’t a good sign.”

Suddenly, the bookshelf behind Neville sneezed.

All four of them peered at it. Harry glanced at Blaise in concern.

“Who’s there?” He called, suspicion colouring his voice.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” muttered a very familiar voice, and Daphne stepped out from behind the bookshelf with a flick of her hair. She was followed by a sheepish Tracey, a grinning Pansy, a bemused Millicent, and a nonchalant Theo.

“What…”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Have you lot been following us?” He asked sharply, cutting of Harry’s half-formed question.

“Yes,” Millicent responded in her usual blunt fashion.

“But only because you’ve been leaving us out of the drama when you _know_ we all love a good intrigue,” Pansy told them.

Daphne nodded primly. “It was very rude of you.”

“Et tu, Tracey?” Blaise raised an eyebrow, amused.

Tracey blushed. “Well, it isn’t fair to leave us out of things.”

Harry shook his head. “But…”

“Fraternity,” said Theo.

“Exactly,” Daphne agreed. “One of the key traits of Slytherin is fraternity, which means-”

“We aren’t going to rat you out, idiots,” Millicent interrupted.

Daphne grimaced. “Not precisely the words I would have used, but I suppose the message is the same.”

“So,” Pansy clapped her hands together in excitement. “What’s this about the Chamber?”

Harry looked at Draco, Blaise, Hermione, and Neville in resignation, and shrugged.

He turned back to the waiting Slytherins with a small smile. “You might want to find some chairs – we have a lot to tell you…”

 

Despite the excitement of the – now much larger – group of second year students, there wasn’t all that much they could do in terms of discovering the identity of the Heir of Slytherin besides watch and wait, and so life went on essentially as normal.

Which, for Harry and Draco, included their first ever Quidditch match. Which they absolutely weren’t scared about.

Because that would be ridiculous.

“I am terrified,” Harry hissed to his friend as they walked out onto the pitch, gripping the handle of the new Nimbus 2001 tightly.

“Oh Merlin, me too,” Draco confessed. “Mother and Father are here.”

Harry looked up into the stands and squinted. Sure enough, sitting next to Snape were the pristine forms of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa may have smiled down at them, but at that distance Harry couldn’t really tell. He would bet his brand new broom that Lucius was glaring at him, though.

Lucius Malfoy was the least of his concerns at this point, however, because the Slytherin team had now reached the centre of the pitch.

Marcus Flint sneered at the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood as they faced off. Their compulsory handshake seemed to be more of a show of strength between the two captains, and Harry noted Wood’s wince.

He eyed up the Gryffindor Seeker warily. She was a third year Harry had been told was called Trinity Teakel. She didn’t look like much, but then again – neither did Harry.

Of course, facing off against Gryffindor meant facing off against the Weasley twins, and Harry met their eyes with caution. He thought they were on good terms, but Fred and George were fearsome Beaters, and the mischief in their matching grins did not speak of good things for Slytherin. Besides, Harry remembered with slight worry, he still owed them a favour for taking care of Norbert the dragon.

Before Harry knew it, the game had begun. Slytherin hit it off with an early lead. Their brooms were obviously superior to the Gryffindors’, but Harry couldn’t help but admire their flying. They were good – the Slytherins, it seemed, were simply better.

Harry spent much of the early game flying high over the pitch, scanning the air below for the tell-tale flash of gold that signalled the Snitch.

Every now and then he would glance over at Draco, who was doing fantastically for his first time as Keeper. Harry admired the speed of his friend’s movements as he deftly blocked the Gryffindor offence from scoring. The blond may have liked to say Harry was born to be on a broom, but by the looks of things, so was Draco.

Harry was rushed out of his thoughts by the whistle of air, and flung himself into a barrel roll just in time to avoid a Bludger to the head.

 _‘Focus, Harry,’_ he chastised himself, but could only watch in shock as the Bludger stopped itself mid-air, and spun around to come right back at him.

He sped away, executing a series of the most advanced rolls, zig-zags, and loops to shake off the Bludger as he knew, but nothing worked. The manoeuvres brought him towards Teakel, who was watching in vague concern. She didn’t seem to know whether to be glad Harry was occupied and therefore couldn’t be looking for the Snitch, or worried about his safety from the Bludger. Harry didn’t spend much time staring at her expression however, because hovering right behind her ear was the Golden Snitch.

Harry raced forward, ignoring the whoosh of air as the Bludger just barely missed his broom yet again. Teakel spun after him, but her Cleansweep was no match for his Nimbus 2001. She stayed on his tail however, as Harry chased after the Snitch, leaning down close to his broom to increase his speed.

They dived together into the trench surrounding the pitch, Harry following the Snitch, and Teakel and the Bludger following Harry. The sound of the rogue ball smashing wooden beams behind them startled Teakel into a scream, but she kept her spot. Harry didn’t dare look back as he spun between two beams, and he heard Teakel finally lift up out of the danger zone. She kept close above him, but Harry could already feel the excitement building in his chest as the Snitch buzzed out of the trench towards the centre of the pitch, extending one arm towards it-

Pain blossomed up from his elbow as the Bludger hit him with a _crunch_. Harry cried out but flung his good arm forward, snatching the Golden Snitch out of the air and crashing his broom into the ground.

Harry hit the grass with a thud and clutched at his injured arm. It felt more shattered than just broken, but that wasn’t even the biggest problem, because the Bludger was still coming for him. Harry rolled over as the Bludger hit the ground like a sledge hammer behind him, getting ready to dodge again before a voice called out:

“ _Finite Incantatem!_ ”

The Bludger stopped in the air; spun once, twice; and dropped, harmless, to the ground.

Harry let his head fall back, panting. He could see a crowd rushing toward him, and groaned. Hermione reached him first, and he realised suddenly that it was her spell that stopped the Bludger.

“Thanks,” he told her with a wince.

“Oh, Harry! We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey, come on-”

“No, no, not to worry!”

Harry groaned again, though this time with annoyance as Gilderoy Lockhart rushed forward, wand out.

“I’ll fix that arm of yours up right away, Harry, just give me a jiffy.”

“Not you,” Harry got out between gritted teeth.

Lockhart laughed. “Poor boy, doesn’t know what he’s saying. This won’t hurt a bit, Harry, now-”

“He knows exactly what he’s saying, actually.” Draco was flushed from the game, but he stood firm in front of Harry. “And what he said was _not you_ , so we’ll be taking him to Madam Pomfrey now, thank you, _sir_.” The honorific was spat out like an insult, and Harry managed to smile slightly in pride.

Lockhart looked shocked. “Well, I-”

“I knew you’d understand sir,” Blaise added in, stepping up besides Draco with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Harry needs to get to the Hospital Wing.”

“But-”

“Thank you, sir,” Daphne interrupted with a sickly sweet smile, and before Harry knew it, all of his Slytherin friends – even Theo – were standing between him and Lockhart with various smug looks. “But we can take it from here.”

 

Harry was in and out of the Hospital Wing in a matter of minutes thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s medical prowess, his arm healed and barely aching. Waiting for him and his friends outside, unfortunately, was a familiar first year.

“You were brilliant today, Harry!” Colin Creevey beamed at him, his words punctuated by the blinding flash of his camera.

Harry winced. “Thanks, Colin. But I really need to-”

“I want to be a Seeker too one day! Headmaster Dumbledore says I can’t change houses but I can for sure sign up for the Quidditch team!”

“That’s great, Colin-”

“And my dad was really grateful for the photo of you, I’ve been telling him all about you, but could we get one of both of us because he really wants to see me with a celebrity you know, and-”

“Creevey!” Draco snapped. “Move. Along.”

Colin stopped, wide-eyed. “Oh. I- Sorry,” he said, and ran away.

“Malfoy!” Hermione scolded. “That was incredibly rude!”

“He was bothering Harry, Granger,” Draco sneered. “After today, some little creep isn’t what Harry needs.”

“Still, Colin’s just a first year-”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Granger,” Blaise interrupted, watching Draco’s fuming with amusement. Harry wondered what was so funny, but didn’t bother asking. It had been a long day, and Blaise would probably just say something cryptic.

He shook his head. “Blaise is right, Hermione. Colin will be fine, and I really can’t deal with him right now. The game’s given me a major headache.”

Daphne exchanged a glance with Blaise. “I suppose Draco was your knight in shining armour then, right Harry?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “What?”

“If you’ve got a headache we should get you back to the Common Room,” Draco said hurriedly.

Harry cocked his head. “Are you alright, Draco? You look flushed.”

“I’m fine. Come on, let’s go.”

Draco dragged him away, leaving Daphne and Blaise snickering behind them.

Harry heard Tracey’s murmured, “You guys really shouldn’t tease him like that”, before they left earshot.

 _‘How strange,’_ Harry thought, and resolved to think on it later.

 

The morning brought solemn news.

“A student has been Petrified,” Dumbledore announced sadly to the school at breakfast. “Colin Creevey is in the Hospital Wing, and will be cured as soon as Professor Sprout’s mandrakes have matured. Thank you.”

“It’s true then,” Tracey frowned. “The Heir – whoever they are – is going to target humans. Muggleborns.”

“At least I can move between classes without being blinded by that damn camera,” Harry murmured, poking at his eggs, before freezing. “Sorry. That was insensitive.” He frowned. “Don’t tell Hermione I said that.”

Millicent snorted. “No ratting you out, remember? Anyway, he’ll be fine, it’s just petrification. Now, more importantly, are you going to the Duelling Club?”

Harry frowned. “Who’s starting a Duelling Club?”

Millicent smirked. “Lockhart.”

“You’re joking,” Draco exclaimed in shock.

Daphne leaned forward with an eager smile. “Oh no, she isn’t. And even better, rumour has it Snape is going to ‘help him with the demonstration’.”

Harry laughed. “That I _have_ to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: 7/2/17. Just realised I'd listed Draco as Seeker *facepalm*


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry needs a hug (and gets one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it has been a long time and I am very sorry but, er... I'm back?

“Gather round, gather round!” Lockhart beamed charismatically from upon the makeshift duelling stand. Somewhere in the mass of students, a girl fainted. “Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent. In light of the dark events of recent weeks, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves – as I myself have done on countless occasions, of course. For full details, see my published works.” He winked down at the crowd.

Next to Harry, Millicent mimed vomiting, while on his other side a boy with a kind face and a yellow and black tie turned to him with an awed grin.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he? Awfully brave chap.” He offered his hand. “Justin Finch-Fletchley. Hufflepuff.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry replied. “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Justin chuckled. “We all do. Even us Muggleborns.” He turned back to the stage, and Harry saw a fellow Hufflepuff tug him away from the Slytherins with narrowed eyes.

“Let me introduce my assistant,” Lockhart was saying, gesturing enthusiastically at a blank-faced Snape. “Professor Snape has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry. You’ll still have your Potions Master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

Pansy snickered. “Snape’s going to _destroy_ him.”

The crowd watched with baited breath as the two professors faced each other, bowing (though Harry noted that Snape kept his eyes high). They walked slowly to their designated positions, ten paces from the other, and spun, wands raised in preparation.

“As you can see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart explained, arrogant grin still firmly in place. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Blaise murmured.

Lockhart began to count, and before the third number had entirely passed his lips Snape was moving – a cobra mid-strike, he shouted:

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

The dazzling scarlet light of the disarming charm exploded from Snape’s wand, crashing into Lockhart and blasting him off his feet and into the far wall.

Millicent laughed in delight, and even Harry couldn’t resist a small smile as Lockhart crumpled to the ground.

“Ah, yes,” the Defence teacher coughed, rising shakily to his feet. “Well, there you have it. That was a Disarming Charm. As you see, I’ve lost my wand. Ah, thank you, Mr Finch-Fletchley.”

Justin handed over the wand, stars in his eyes.

“Yes,” Lockhart continued. “An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape.”

“Got to admire his recovery,” Draco said, leaning over to Harry with amusement in his eyes.

“Excellent idea, excellent idea. But if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy.”

Draco shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Perhaps,” Snape drawled, “It would be prudent to first teach the students to block unfriendly spells, Professor.”

Lockhart paused. “An excellent suggestion, Professor Snape! Let’s have a volunteer pair. Potter, Malfoy, how about you?”

Snape pursed his lips, but stepped back as Harry and Draco took the stage with matching grins.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco teased.

Harry smirked into his bow. “You wish.”

They turned in unison, making their way to their respective positions. Harry flexed his fingers around his wand, tense with excitement. He had witnessed first-hand Draco’s spell casting prowess in Charms and Defence, not to mention his speed on the Quidditch pitch – but Harry wasn’t bad in those categories himself. He got the feeling it would be a close match.

“Wands at the ready!” Lockhart called. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponent – _only_ to disarm. We don’t want any accidents.”

Somewhere to Harry’s left he heard someone snicker – Pansy most likely, knowing the competitiveness both Harry and Draco harboured – but he tuned it out.

“One-”

Harry held his breath.

“Two-”

A jet of white light shot from Draco’s wand before Lockhart could reach three, grazing Harry’s arm as he dodged at the last second.

 _‘Cheater,’_ Harry thought with slight annoyance, but barely hesitated before casting his returned _rictusempra_. Draco was unprepared for Harry’s quick retaliation and the jinx hit him right in the stomach. He bent over with a gasp but fired back just as quickly:

_“Serpensortia!”_

Harry jumped back at the word – he and Draco had found that spell together, so he was ready for the large black snake slithering forth from his friend’s wand. Draco was grinning, cocky, but Harry simply smirked right back. He had a secret weapon after all.

He hadn’t spoken the Snake-Tongue since the zoo incident with Dudley and the python, but the words sprung forth from his lips without hesitation.

“ **Stop** ,” Harry said. The snake lifted itself from its coiled position and cocked its head to one side, as if curious. “ **Do not move**.”

The conjured creature hissed at him, but lowered itself down obediently.

Harry lifted his wand. The counter spell had been next to _serpensortia_ in the text he and Draco had read, and Harry did not forget.

“ _Vipera evanesca_ ,” he commanded, and the snake vanished into smoke.

Harry looked up, triumph flowing hot in his veins, but the sight of Draco’s face froze it cold. Draco was shocked – or, it seemed, scared. A quick glance at the silent crowd and stone-faced Snape told Harry his friend’s response was not an unusual one.

The situation was sickeningly familiar. It seemed Harry’s ability was strange, even for wizards. He was a freak in every world – Muggle or Magic. The realisation churned in his stomach like sludge.

“Whoo!”

A cheer shook Harry from his sudden onset of self-loathing, and he jumped.

It was Millicent. Harry stared at her in shock as she clapped loudly into the silence, followed slowly by a confused looking Tracey, then Pansy, then Blaise, and even Daphne.

Blaise leapt onto the duelling stand, raising Harry’s limp hand in a show of victory. He said something to the crowd Harry couldn’t process, before tugging him off the stage and out of the room.

Harry was still numb when they settled in his dorm room, even the girls. Pansy holding his shoulder, uncharacteristically gently, was what finally broke into the fog in his head – the fog infecting his every thought with words he knew far too well, words like _unnatural_ , like _wrong_ , like _freak_.

“Harry,” Blaise said. His voice was quiet, almost soft. For a second, Harry hated all of them. His friends stood around him, none too close, all gentle with him like he was fragile. Like he could break at any second. Like him breaking would be a bad thing, when all he was now was a burden.

“Harry, breathe.”

He _was_ breathing, though, but the air tasted acrid and stung at his throat.

He didn’t know he was saying anything until the words were already past his tongue.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you dolt.”

That was Daphne, and suddenly she was in front of him, her green eyes close and her tone firm. “You did nothing wrong. Now breathe, and let us help you.”

Harry inhaled. He exhaled, and the fog cleared, just a little. With every slow breath the world got a little sharper, until he could see again past the litany of insults in his head.

That, of course, left room for the shame to flood in. It rushed into his stomach, a tidal wave of humiliation forcing him to keel forward until his nose touched his knees. He thought he might be sick. Twice this year he had embarrassed himself in front of the only friends he had ever had. Why were they still putting up with him?

He voiced the question aloud on accident, the mess in his head dissolving the control he once had on his mouth. The sludgy shame in his gut thickened.

“Harry, look at me.”

Blaise was calm as he always was, and his slow, methodical way of speaking drew Harry to obey. When he saw he had Harry’s attention, Blaise continued.

“We are friends. We’re not leaving you. A panic attack is nothing to be ashamed of.”

He must have seen Harry’s confusion, because he asked: “Do you know what a panic attack is?”

Harry shook his head, and forced back the rush of nausea the motion caused.

“A panic attack is when you get overwhelmed by anxiety, like you get sometimes. They’re scary, but we can help you manage them. You just need to let us.”

Harry closed his eyes. His throat was tight; he thought he might cry. “How do you know all this stuff?” He managed to ask, once his voice returned to him.

Blaise was not the one to answer this time.

“It’s not uncommon for a traditional pureblood home to be frightening,” said Theo. His eyes seemed even more solemn than usual. “Those of us who are lucky find ways to cope.”

“Pureblood families were never meant to be happy,” Millicent said with a humourless smile.

Daphne nodded, though her eyes were closed. “We are meant to be successful. It is not our way to be loving. Or, it’s not meant to be.”

Harry looked at his friends with new eyes, distracted for a moment from his own anxiety. He thought of Blaise’s quiet understanding at every turn; Theo’s silence and solemnity; the way Daphne and Astoria clutched at each other like lifelines. He noted Millicent’s clenched fists; Tracey’s averted eyes; the way Pansy was gnawing at her lip so fiercely he thought it might bleed. He saw Draco, staring out the window with damp cheeks.

Harry had forsaken the Muggle world as cold and unforgiving, but no world was free of that. There were plenty of Uncle Vernons, magic and muggle alike – plenty of Aunt Petunias who stayed silent when they shouldn’t.

“How do you cope?” His voice was soft, but it was no longer breaking. He was not alone.

“You learn,” Blaise said simply. “You find a method that works for you and you use it when you must.”

“I’ll help you find some, Harry,” said Tracey quietly. “I think I know some places to start.”

Harry’s eyes prickled, and for once he didn’t want to hold the tears back. He felt young, and scared, and safe with his friends.

“Oh come on, let’s bring it in,” Pansy said abruptly, and leaned forward for a hug.

Harry was happy to oblige, and so, apparently, were the rest of the Slytherins, because soon Harry was surrounded by warm arms and somehow, he didn’t feel claustrophobic.

Eventually they pulled back, and Pansy once again broke the silence, wiping her face with one sleeve.

“Now,” she sniffed. “When in Merlin’s name were you going to tell us you were a Parselmouth?”

 

They stayed up all night talking. Harry learned quite a few new things about himself – like that he had a rare magical gift, and that he must apparently have a relation to Salazar Slytherin himself. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that but, as Theo reminded him (with perhaps a slightly pointed look at Daphne), one could not choose their heritage. Soon enough however, he had to sleep. He was exhausted – not to mention emotionally sapped – but it was with a smile on his face that he drifted into slumber.

 

Blaise lay awake. He listened carefully for Harry’s breathing to even out, waiting. When he was sure it was safe, he waited ten minutes more. Finally, he pushed back the thick emerald drapes around his bed and crept on silent feet to Draco’s own closed curtains.

Draco was awake, cross legged and twirling his wand. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it at the last second and cast a whispered _silencio_.

Blaise spoke as soon as the silencing ward was up. “You know this means they’ll target him.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “Heir of Slytherin. Is it better or worse that it’s true?”

Blaise didn’t answer. They sat in silence for a time.

“Has he told you?”

Draco frowned. “No. You?”

“No.”

“I’m going to kill them,” the young Malfoy promised, eyes fierce. "Whoever they are."

“Don’t you think that’s up to him?”

“…I suppose. But what are we going to do?”

Blaise ran a hand over his shaved hair. “We protect him, when we can. And we teach him to protect himself.”

“Alright.”

Draco extended a hand, and Blaise clasped it in his own. They shook solemnly, and separated for sleep.

The promises of a pair of twelve year old boys are not usually held in high regard. One may reason that young boys are impulsive, and prone to making promises that they cannot, or do not actually want to keep. One would, in most cases, be correct in that reasoning – but not always. The promises they speak of are fleeting – they mean little in the short-term, and next to nothing in the wider timeline of the universe.  But sometimes, just sometimes, a promise – a true promise, made by people of any age so long as they are true in heart – can change that timeline; can change _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry has been through a lot, in canon and in the additions of this story, so he's really not in a great place right now. But his friends are helping him!  
> (I'm absolutely not projecting. That would be ridiculous.)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking with me and I hope you like the chapter. Next one will be less emotional. I think.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another attack strikes Hogwarts, and Harry is oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight filler. Enjoy anyway?

The library seemed quieter than usual a few evenings later. Harry sat with Tracey and Hermione at a back table, books on their chosen study subject of the night – Transfiguration – spread out in front of them. The only sounds to break the silence were the occasional turn of a page, and the scratching of quill against paper as the female Weasley – Ginevra, Harry remembered – scribbled in a small black notebook a few tables away.

On most nights, Harry found the quiet comforting. Not tonight. Tonight it seemed that every other student was watching him with wary eyes. He had slowly been getting used to the attention that came with being the Boy Who Lived, but there was something different about being stared at with disgust – even fear. The other Slytherins had warned him of the stigma that came with his ability, the ‘gift’ they called Parseltongue. Harry had thought he could deal with it. But not tonight.

Harry stood, collecting his books and waving off the concerned looks his two friends shot him with a small smile. The quiet of the library seemed suddenly stifling. For tonight, at least, he’d rather be alone. Ginevra Weasley glanced up at him as he passed, staring for a moment, before she turned back to her book. She looked tired, Harry noted – but then again, so did he.

Halfway back to the Slytherin Common Room he heard voices from a nearby classroom. He would have passed right by, had he not heard his name.

“So, anyway, I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best he keep a low profile for a week.”

That was a Hufflepuff – Macmillan, Harry thought. He paused, slipping closer to the door.

“But why would Potter want to attack Justin?”

Hannah Abbot. Harry had talked to her in Transfiguration just last week. She had smiled and chatted with him – he’d thought she’d seemed nice.

“Didn’t you see them talking at the Duelling Club?” Macmillan asked her in a conspiratorial whisper. “Justin let it slip to Potter that he was Muggleborn.”

A silent moment, and then: “And you definitely think Potter’s the Heir of Slytherin?” Abbot sounded uncertain.

“Hannah, he’s a Parselmouth, and a Slytherin no less. That’s _two_ marks of a Dark Wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent wizard who could talk to snakes? You know they called Slytherin himself Serpent-Tongue. And remember what was written on the wall: _Enemies of the Heir beware._ Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch. Next thing, Filch’s cat is attacked. And that first year Gryffindor Creevey’s been annoying Potter for weeks. Then Creevey’s attacked.”

“He always seems so nice, though,” Abbot protested weakly. “And, after all, he is the one who made You-Know-Who disappear.”

Macmillan snorted. “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him.”

Harry had heard enough. There was an anger boiling in his chest at the Hufflepuffs’ words and he knew if he didn’t leave that second he would storm into the classroom. Perhaps it would serve them right – they wanted a Dark Wizard, he could give them one.

He was so caught up in his furious thoughts as he stormed down the corridor that he didn’t even notice Hagrid until the groundskeeper was right in front of him.

“All right there, Harry?” Hagrid asked with a frown.

Harry nearly snapped at him, but the large man’s appearance gave him pause. He was covered in snow from the outdoors, and carrying the limp corpse of a rooster.

Hagrid noticed him staring, and lifted the rooster a touch too close to Harry’s face.

“Second one killed this term!” he said, in a poor explanation. “Reckon it’s either foxes or a Blood-Sucking Bugbear. Need Dumbledore’s permission to put a charm around the hen-coop. Now, you sure you’re alright, Harry? You don’t look too well.”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t really want to deal with Hagrid right now. “It’s nothing, just stress. Speaking of, I’d better get back to studying, so…”

“Right, right,” Hagrid nodded, and Harry was gone.

The minor interaction with the groundskeeper had, despite Harry’s irritation at the interruption of his vaguely murderous thoughts, lifted Harry’s mood a little. He walked slower, no longer aiming for the dungeons but directionless.

 _‘It doesn’t matter what some Hufflepuffs think_ , _’_ he rationalised. The important thing was that his friends accepted him as he was, Neville and Hermione included. Even Gemma had told him in a mock-whisper in the Common Room that this just meant he was a badass, and Adrian had seemed- well. He had asked if Harry _was_ the Heir of Slytherin, but Gemma had slapped him upside the head and he had let it go. If it didn’t distract Harry from flying, Adrian had said, then he didn’t care. And Tracey had offered her and Theo up to look through some genealogy books, to maybe find where Harry’s family intersected with the Slytherin line. So really, there was no reason for the two Hufflepuffs’ opinions to bother him. Except they did. Harry didn’t know what to do about that.

The rattling of a windowpane in the wind startled Harry out of his thoughts, and he glanced up with a jump. Up ahead, a lone torch was flickering. Where was he? He must have wandered pretty far to not recognise the area. Harry approached the window, feeling abruptly nervous.

The torch flared, momentarily brushing back the shadows of the castle, and Harry stepped back with a sharp inhale.

Lying rigid and pale on the floor by the window was a familiar, frozen face. Justin Finch-Fletchley’s eyes were wide and unblinking, his mouth stuck open in awful surprise. Beyond him, hidden just around the corner, the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, spun slowly in the air. His eyes were closed, and his translucent chest was filled with thick, black smoke.

Harry knelt next to Justin, shock turning his limbs to lead, numbing his brain. Justin’s hand was ice cold. Tiny spiders scuttled past, moving as one up the wall and out through a crack in the stone.

“Mr Potter.”

Harry jolted, spinning around. Professor McGonagall took in the scene, her stern face carefully neutral.

“Professor, I-”

“This is out of my hands, Mr Potter,” said McGonagall, not unkindly. “Mr Filch, will you take care of this, please?”

It took Harry a moment to notice him, but soon enough the shadows behind McGonagall moved, revealing a lurking Filch.

“Caught in the act,” Filch hissed as he shuffled towards Justin and the ghost. “I’ll have you out this time, Potter. Mark my words…”

Harry stood silently, moving after McGonagall without even fully realising it. Behind him, Filch continued to mutter about dark magic, and evil.

 

If asked to recall the way to the Headmaster’s office from that dreadful corridor, Harry would have had difficulty answering, despite his much better than average memory. He certainly could not tell you how long the journey took, but soon enough McGonagall was speaking to the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office:

“Sherbet lemon.”

The gargoyle lifted its wings in what perhaps was meant to be a welcoming gesture, and McGonagall gently pushed Harry onto the platform within its wings. The ugly snarl of the creature’s mouth seemed even more menacing up close.

“Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you,” McGonagall said from behind him, and then the gargoyle’s stone wings closed again, trapping Harry within.

He didn’t have enough time to panic at the small area and the feeling of rising movement beneath his feet before the gargoyle spread its wings once again, revealing a large, circular room.

Dumbledore’s office was filled with an impressive amount of magical paraphernalia – a series of strange, silver instruments whirred in unison on a table; bits and bobs and knick knacks sat on every available surface, all foreign to Harry; the Sorting Hat rested, silent, on a high up shelf; and, perhaps most oddly, portraits covered the walls. Within each sat a sleeping witch or wizard, save for one. The exception was an elderly wizard with very small glasses, not unlike Headmaster Dumbledore’s, who was reading a book entitled in a language Harry could not read. The label on his gilded frame read _Professor Dippet_ , and Harry realised with a start that around him sat the portraits of every past Headmaster Hogwarts had ever had.

The Sorting Hat caught his attention again, and Harry stepped over to it as quietly as he could, silently cursing the fact that he had left the enchanted boots Blaise had got him for Christmas a year earlier in his dormitory that day. Glancing around to check he was still alone, Harry lifted the Hat, and placed it upon his head.

 _‘Bee in your bonnet, Potter?’_ the Hat asked. It sounded amused.

 _‘Well,’_ Harry thought back, _‘I was just wondering-‘_

_‘If I put you in the right house?’_

Harry thought of his friends, and shook his head. _‘No. Not that, just… Why did you choose Slytherin for me? You said I could go anywhere, so why Slytherin?’_

 _‘That’s a loaded question,’_ said the Hat. _‘And you’ll find the answer yourself soon enough. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you a hint. You have the ability to do great things, Hadrian Potter, truly great. Slytherin, of the four houses, is the one that will realise that ability.’_

Harry frowned. _‘I’m not sure I understand.’_

_‘Well, that’s not my problem, is it? I gave you an answer.’_

Harry huffed, and promptly put the Hat back on its shelf. A choking, gagging sort of sound caused him to spin, and he had approximately two seconds to take in the sight of a sickly looking bird on a golden perch before the creature burst into flame.

This, of course, was precisely the moment that Headmaster Dumbledore chose to make his entrance.

“Professor-” Harry began, ready to attempt to explain – for the bird, for Justin, for anything, but Dumbledore simply raised one wrinkled hand.

“Not to worry, Harry, my boy,” the old wizard said, with a twinkle in his eye. “Fawkes has been looking dreadful for days. Pity you had to see him on burning day – he’s really very handsome most of the time.”

Harry blinked. He got the feeling there was something very obvious he was missing.

Dumbledore took pity. “Fawkes is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes become fire when it is time for them to die, and then-”

“Are reborn from the ashes,” Harry finished in a breath, as a tiny wrinkled head emerged from the ash below the perch, blinking dust from its eyes.

Dumbledore smiled at the newborn Fawkes fondly. “Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.”

Harry didn’t really think a phoenix counted as a pet, but he supposed it wasn’t his place to say.

Before the conversation could move to more important things – such as Harry’s status as a suspect in the current series of attacks – Hagrid burst out of a side door by the gargoyle, still clutching the dead rooster Harry had seen him with earlier.

“It wasn’t Harry, Professor Dumbledore!” he shouted, panting and red-faced.

“Hagrid-”

“I was talking to him just before that kid was found, it can’t have been him!”

“Hagrid-”

“I’ll swear to it in front of the Ministry of Magic, I-”

“Hagrid!” Dumbledore finally managed to interrupt the groundskeeper’s frantic yelling, and gave a calming smile. “I do not think that Harry attacked anyone.”

Hagrid paused. “Oh. I’ll – ahem, I’ll wait outside then.”

Dumbledore nodded at him, and watched as Hagrid made his way back out the door he came through.

Though grateful for Hagrid’s defense – if a little confused – Harry couldn’t help but be a little suspicious at the Headmaster’s easy acceptance.

“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” he asked, holding back a frown.

“No, Harry. But I must ask you… is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon glasses with a careful eye. “Anything at all?”

Harry stiffened. What was he talking about?

“No, Professor,” he said, and left as soon as he was dismissed.

 

“What a creepy thing to say,” Millicent said bluntly when Harry recounted his visit to Dumbledore’s office to his friends that night in a back corner of the library.

Hermione looked at her reproachfully. “He’s probably just worried about Harry – he’s the Headmaster, it’s his job to look out for students.”

“Doesn’t mean he has to be weird about it.”

“You lot are missing the point,” said Tracey, tapping on the table nervously. “We know Harry’s not the one attacking students-”

“Obviously,” Blaise drawled.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Tracey glared at him for the interruption. “But that still means that someone is.”

“We don’t have to worry though, right?” Pansy said with a shrug. “I mean, everyone’s saying that the Heir is only going after Muggleborns.”

Theo said quietly, “Pansy.”

Pansy paused, glancing at Hermione awkwardly. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter who the Heir is going after,” Draco told them. “If he keeps at this, they’re going to have to close the school. My mother was writing me about it.”

“Who said the Heir is a ‘he’?” Daphne arched a brow.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Not the point, Daph.”

“Except it sort of is,” Daphne retorted, flicking her hair back over one shoulder. “We don’t know who the Heir is. It could be anyone – anyone at all.”

Those sombre words silenced the table, until Harry sighed. “It doesn’t really matter right now though, does it?”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.

“Well, it’s Christmas holidays soon. It’s not like we can do much investigating while you guys are away.” He tried not to sound bitter, but judging from Hermione’s vaguely pitying look, he guessed he failed.

“Actually,” Draco said with a growing smile, “I’m staying at Hogwarts these holidays.”

Harry looked up at him in surprise. “Really? Doesn’t your dad want you home every holiday?”

Draco shrugged. “Mum convinced him.”

“Theo and I are staying too, actually,” said Tracey.

Harry thought he saw Draco’s face twist in annoyance for a second, but he was too busy grinning to analyse it. “Seriously? So it’s us three then, yeah?”

“Guess so,” Draco huffed, for some reason making Daphne and Blaise share a sly smile.

“Oh, Harry,” Neville interrupted quietly before Harry could ask his friend what was wrong. “Um, I thought you might want to know – Fred and George and Ginny are on your side.”

“What?” Harry blinked.

“The other night, in the Common Room- um, Ron was saying some, uh, kind of mean things, and the twins looked like they were gonna- I mean, gonna jinx him or something, but Ginny hexed him first.”

“What hex?” Millicent asked, amused.

Neville gave a small smile, despite his anxiety at talking directly to any of the Slytherins that weren’t Harry. “The Bat-Bogey Hex.”

Millicent cackled, gaining a hiss from Madam Pince – that she ignored, of course. “Nice one, mini Weasley!”

“It’s not that impressive,” said Draco, frowning.

“I don’t know, Draco,” Blaise smirked. “Seems like Harry’s got a new knight in shining armour.”

The Malfoy heir scoffed, but Harry cut off his retort.

“Why would Ginny Weasley care about what people say about me?” he asked, confused.

“Oh Harry, darling,” Daphne leaned forward, patting his hand over the table. “You have so much to learn.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets a new ghost, and finds a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere! Sorry for these sporadic updates, by the way - school is exhausting and life is messy, but I have not lost my passion for this story! I plan to keep updating whenever I can :)

“Theo and I have searched everywhere,” Tracey explained as she, Harry, and Hermione left the library after a quiet study session. “But none of your lineage seems to point back to Slytherin. The closest we found was in _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Did you know the Potters trace back to the twelfth century?”

Harry had not known that. “What did you find there?”

“Well, the first Potter we could find was Linfred of Stinchcombe – his nickname was ‘the Potterer’, that’s where your surname comes from – and it seems that his son married a Peverell.”

Harry didn’t understand her excitement. “Who were the Peverells?”

Tracey blinked at him, her step faltering a moment. “You don’t- Oh.” She flushed. “Sorry. The Peverells are – or, were – a great wizarding family, and the three earliest known wizards are believed to be those in _The Tale of the Three Brothers_.”

“What’s _The Tale of the Three Brothers?_ ” Hermione asked. She appeared to be getting a little fed up with not knowing what Tracey was talking about. Harry didn’t blame her – he didn’t like not knowing things either.

“It’s a wizarding children’s story, but it’s also a legend. You two should read it sometime, it’s quite interesting.”

Hermione frowned. “Why would I waste time with a children’s story?”

“It’s not a waste of time,” Tracey frowned back. “It’s a key part of wizarding history.”

“You said it was a legend,” Hermione pointed out.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”

“It can’t be history if it’s just a legend. Legends aren’t true.”

“Legends are _born_ from truth; _myths_ are false.”

“I don’t see that there’s much of a difference.”

“ _Of course_ there’s a difference! Legends are just distorted parts of history, myths are completely made up.”

“A ‘distorted part of history’ still can’t be trusted – you said it yourself, it’s been twisted.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not useful, it-”

“Oi,” Harry interrupted. The girls looked at him, both irritated. He ignored their expressions in favour of pointing ahead. “What’s that?”

They looked. Further down the corridor, a door was partially open; spilling from it was a long puddle of water. The sight of it pooling in the cracks of the stone floor reminded Harry a little too much of the night he, Blaise, and Draco had found Mrs Norris petrified. Like most things that made him uncomfortable, Harry chose not to think about it.

“Oh no,” Tracey groaned. “Myrtle’s flooded the bathroom again.”

“Myrtle?”

This time, both Tracey and Hermione looked at him like he was stupid.

“Moaning Myrtle,” Hermione said, like that was some sort of explanation.

“She’s a ghost,” Tracey told him, taking pity. “She haunts the first floor girl’s bathroom – _that_ bathroom. She floods it sometimes when she gets upset.”

Hermione huffed. “So all the time, really.”

Harry moved forward, splashing through the thin layer of water to peer inside the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Tracey asked, following him. “You can’t go in – it’s a _girl’s_ bathroom, Harry.”

“A girl’s bathroom that no one ever uses,” Hermione pointed out. “And listen: Myrtle’s crying.”

“So?”

Hermione muttered something that sounded remarkably like ‘heartless Slytherins’ under her breath.

Tracey put her hands on her hips and glared. “Myrtle is always crying. She’s a ghost. We can’t exactly help her stop being dead.”

“That doesn’t mean we just ignore her like-”

Harry tuned the two girls out. He was starting to think Myrtle’s wailing might be the more attractive option, and that plus his curiosity encouraged him to push open the door and step inside the flooded bathroom.

Myrtle’s weeping sounded more like howling from inside. Every tap in the room was running, spilling water off the sides of the sinks in a steady stream. Harry’s just grateful she didn’t flood the toilets.

The crying stopped. Harry turned at a _whoosh_ of sound only to be met with a furious translucent face.

“Come to throw something else at me?” Myrtle spat accusingly.

“Erm… no.”

“Why would he throw something at you?” Hermione asked from the door. Harry took a second to be thankful she and Tracey could put aside their arguing before he turned his attention back to the ghost – the ghost who was still far too close to him. He quietly took a step back.

Myrtle sniffed, floating a little higher into the air. “Don’t ask me. Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me!”

Harry wasn’t sure what the big problem was – surely a book would go right through her? – but he didn’t think it wise to ask.

“Who threw a book at you?” questioned Tracey, moving further into the room and grimacing at the water soaking her shoes.

“I don’t know – I didn’t see them,” Myrtle said. She floated up to the oversized circular window sitting high in the wall of the room. “I was just sitting here, thinking about death, and it fell through the top of my head.” She sniffed again, seemingly on the verge of going back to her wailing.

“That was very cruel of them,” Harry said quickly.

“I know!” Myrtle cried, flopping dramatically against the window. “It’s just like when I was alive, really. Have you heard of Olive Hornby? She was the real cruel one.”

Harry wasn’t very keen on listening to Myrtle moan about her life – as insensitive as that may be – and splashed towards the window. Lying in the water was the projectile that had hit Myrtle: a small, black book that looked remarkably familiar.

“I haven’t heard that name, sorry,” he told Myrtle absently, picking up the book. “Tell me about her some other time, okay?”

Myrtle rolled over in the window sill, smiling down at him. Her large round glasses defied gravity as easily as she did. “Okay! Come back soon, will you? You’re awfully nice, you know.”

Harry flashed her the most genuine smile he could manage and left the bathroom as quickly as he could.

 

Tracey started laughing at him as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Oh, Merlin, Harry, you’re going to regret that.”

“Regret what?”

“That little performance! Did you see the doe eyes she gave you when you said you’d come back? She adores you.”

“It’s just a silly little crush, it won’t do any harm,” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Tracey shook her head. “You’d be surprised. A ghost like Myrtle? She won’t be letting that go anytime soon.”

“I’ve seen this book before,” Harry murmured, tracing a hand over the leather cover. “Ginny Weasley wrote in it.” He flicked through the pages. “But it’s blank.”

“It must be someone else’s, then,” Hermione said. “It’s not really a distinctive book, Harry.”

“Or she used an invisibility spell,” Tracey chimed in.

Hermione frowned at her. “She’s a first year.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , charming whole pages of a diary blank isn’t something they teach first years.”

“She has plenty of brothers doesn’t she? Maybe she got someone to do it for her, for privacy.”

“Well,” Hermione huffed. “There’s one easy way to find out. Hold the book open, Harry.” She pulled out her wand, and tapped the open diary three times. “ _Aparecium!_ ”

Harry flipped the pages again, but they remained stubbornly blank.

“See?” Hermione said triumphantly, tucking her wand away again.

Tracey put her hands on her hips again. “It could still be a concealment spell.”

“On a first year’s diary?”

“I didn’t say she performed the spell!”

Harry opened the book to the first page, ignoring their squabbling. There, in golden letters, read _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

“Who is Tom Riddle?” He asked the girls, but it appeared they weren’t listening – they had stopped in the corridor, unknowingly mirroring each other’s pose (hands on hips), still arguing.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked on without them. Perhaps it was time for some new study partners.

 

“You opened a random book left in a bathroom without checking it for curses?” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

Harry resisted the urge to shuffle his feet like he was in front of Professor McGonagall.

“I thought it was Ginny Weasley’s.”

Blaise turned to Tracey. “You _let_ him open a random book without checks?”

Tracey flushed a deep red. “I was… preoccupied.”

Draco had his head in his hands. “No survival instincts…”

Blaise patted him on the shoulder with one hand and ran the other over his shaven head. “I know.”

“You lot are _such_ old people,” Daphne said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “The important thing is: what was in it?”

Pansy brightened next to Millicent on the Common Room couch. “Ooh – blackmail material?”

“Gossip?” Daphne leaned forward.

“Someone’s innermost secrets?”

Harry eyed them. “…No. It’s blank.”

“Oh.”

They both sunk back into their seats, disappointed.

“Well, what’s so interesting about it then?” Pansy frowned. “Someone pranked Moaning Myrtle, so what?”

“I wish they wouldn’t,” Millicent grumbled.

“Why? Going soft, Millie?” teased Pansy.

Millicent shoved her off the couch.

“It belongs to Tom Riddle,” Harry told them, before they could start squabbling. “Only, I don’t know anyone by that name who goes here.”

“He’s an Alumnus,” said Theo, not bothering to look up from his book. “Attended Hogwarts fifty years ago.”

Pansy squinted at him from her new spot on the floor. “How do you know this stuff?”

Theo turned the page of his book, and said nothing.

“Wait – fifty years ago?” Tracey frowned. “But isn’t that-”

“The last time the Chamber of Secrets opened, of course!” Draco exclaimed. “My father told me about it.”

“So Tom Riddle will know something about the Chamber from last time,” Blaise concluded. “That would be useful if he’d actually written anything about it.”

Harry sighed. “So as it is – no new leads.”

The ensuing silence was broken when a tiny figure entered the Slytherin Common Room – a tiny and familiar figure.

Daphne jumped up from her seat. “Astoria! Where have you been?”

She stormed over to her sister with the appearance of a mother hen fussing over her chicks.

“She’s quite protective, isn’t she?” Harry said. He wasn’t sure if he was amused or envious.

“She has reason to be,” Blaise replied. “Astoria’s more vulnerable than most.”

Harry gave him a questioning look, but Blaise just shook his head. Daphne returned moments later while her sister climbed the stairs to her dormitory. Astoria, Harry noted, looked markedly unrepentant.

“She’s made a new friend,” Daphne told them, scowling.

Tracey smiled tentatively. “That’s good, right?”

Daphne made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “With a _Hufflepuff._ ”

“Better than a Gryffindor,” Pansy pointed out. “Who’s the Hufflepuff?”

“Arabella Winters, first year, half-blood, quickly giving herself a reputation as a Gryffindor wannabe.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, impressed, but Daphne waved him off.

“She’s all over the rumour mill, everyone knows about her. Though perhaps,” she paused, her sharp green eyes turning to ice and the corners of her lips upturning, “I should meet her myself. Come on, Pansy, I want to know everything about her by morning.”

“With pleasure,” Pansy leapt up from the floor, and the two strode up the stairs to their dormitory together.

Blaise gave the remaining Slytherins a glance. “Is it just me, or are they a _little_ bit frightening?”

 

Harry was the last one in the Common Room that night. He should have been in bed hours ago (if Hermione knew he was still awake she’d give him the lecture of a lifetime) but for some reason he just couldn’t shake the feeling that the Tom Riddle’s diary was important. He turned the pages one by one. No matter how much he stared at them, however, they remained blank.

Harry sighed, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He should go to bed. There was no point to what he was doing – he had no ideas, no new information, nothing. Plus, he remembered with a groan, he had Defence first in the morning. Dealing with Lockhart was hard enough on a full night’s sleep; he didn’t know how he’d manage when under-rested.

There was the sound of something knocking over as his elbow hit it, following by the splat of liquid. Harry cursed, scrambling to put his glasses back on, but he already knew what had happened. The ink spilled out of its pot slowly after the first cascade, the diary’s crisp pages now black.

He wanted to hit something. He was seriously debating throwing the inkpot at the wall to see if he’d feel any better when something strange started to occur. The splash of ink on the diary’s parchment began to dry, and as it dried it sunk into the paper like a ghost into a wall, and disappeared.

Immediately, Harry upturned the pot and grabbed the closest quill. Dipping it into the little remaining ink, he wrote the first thing he thought of at the top of the now clear page:

_My name is Harry Potter._

The parchment absorbed his words as they had absorbed the ink spill, and mere seconds later new words – not his own – emerged on the page:

_Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle._

Harry let out a breathy, hysterical laugh. He could talk to him. He could find out about the Chamber!

_Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?_

He tapped his quill impatiently, but the reply was simple.

_Yes._

Harry scowled, and wrote:

_Can you tell me?_

_No._

Harry dropped his quill in frustration. He was so close! He almost missed the new words oozing from the page.

_But I can show you._

For a moment, Harry thought Tom Riddle was going to draw him a picture, but then the pages of the diary began to flutter wildly until coming to a stop with the words:

_June 13 th._

The parchment began to shimmer, getting brighter and brighter until it enveloped the whole book, window-like.

Harry threw his self-preservation to the wind and leaned into the book.

With a flash of blinding light, the Slytherin Common Room was empty – all that remained was spilled ink, and a small black diary.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a glimpse into the past, and he and Draco have an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....So I'm not dead.

The world inside Tom Riddle’s diary was strange – blurred softly around the edges, the colours muted and the torch-light dimmed, as if the whole scene was simply a dream. The setting, however, was familiar: a Hogwarts corridor, just outside the Great Hall. Harry was so distracted by his abrupt change in surroundings that it took him a moment to realise he wasn’t alone.

A tall boy, older than Harry, peered around a corner at the end of the corridor. He was lean and pale, with dark hair perfectly arranged atop his head. Harry approached him quietly.

“Excuse me,” he whispered. “Hello?”

The stranger didn’t appear to hear him. Harry moved forward, leaning around the corner to see what had so captured the boy’s attention. A crowd of elderly witches and wizards stood in silence, watching a magically levitated stretcher pass them by. The body being carried was covered completely by a white sheet.

“Riddle.”

Harry spun around at the same time the stranger did. They were met with a familiar face to Harry – Albus Dumbledore, though much younger than in Harry’s time. Harry straightened at the sight of the Headmaster but, like the boy, Dumbledore did not appear to see him.

“Professor Dumbledore,” the stranger said, respectfully.

“It’s not wise to be wandering around this late, Tom.”

 _‘Tom’_ , Harry thought, inspecting the boy next to him. _‘This is the mysterious Tom Riddle.’_

“Yes, Professor,” Tom was saying. “I suppose I- I just had to see for myself if… if the rumours were true.” He glanced back down the hall, but the stretcher had moved on.

“I’m afraid they are, Tom.”

“About the school as well?” A look of fear flashed across Tom Riddle’s face, gone as soon as it came. “They wouldn’t really close Hogwarts, would they, Professor?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Headmaster Dippet may have no choice, I’m afraid.”

Tom was silent for a moment, eyes trained on the floor, before he raised them with a considering tilt to his head. “Sir? If it all stopped- If the person responsible was caught…”

The future headmaster peered down at Tom through his glasses. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would have said Dumbledore looked suspicious of Tom Riddle – but what reason did he have to be that suspicious of a student?

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Tom?”

Tom paused. “No, sir. Nothing.”

Dumbledore didn’t seem convinced – though really, neither was Harry – but he seemed to let it go.

“Very well, then. Hurry along.”

They parted ways, Professor Dumbledore following the path of the stretcher while Tom strode off towards the dungeons. Harry trailed behind the other student, pushed along by whatever force had allowed him into the diary – into this memory.

Harry pieced together what he had learned so far as they walked. Tom Riddle was showing him a memory from his past, from the last time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and in that time, someone had died. A student, probably, though a teacher was possible. That was awful, of course, and a terrifying wake-up call for the danger of Harry’s own situation (as so far, students were being Petrified, not killed) but information wise, it didn’t help him. He still didn’t know who had opened the Chamber of Secrets, or what exactly the ‘monster’ within the Chamber was, or _where_ the Chamber was.

But then again – the memory wasn’t over yet.

Tom Riddle came to a stop outside an innocuous room in the dungeons. The door was opened slightly, and a voice carried through:

“C’mon, Aragog. Gotta get you outta here… C’mon now, in the box…”

Harry’s breath hitched. He knew that voice. But surely he was mistaken-

Tom pushed the door lightly with the tip of his wand, and it swung wide. A large man – no, a boy – knelt within in front of a curious box. The boy looked up at the sound. Harry wanted to be sick.

“Evening, Hagrid.”

Harry could barely focus on the memory – his mind was racing, trying to explain what Tom Riddle was showing him. It just couldn’t be true! Hagrid had frightened him initially, sure, but after getting to know him, it became clear that the groundskeeper wouldn’t hurt a fly. He had been kind to Harry and his friends; they’d all thought he was totally benevolent. They couldn’t all be wrong, surely?

“I’m going to have to turn you in, Hagrid,” Riddle was saying when Harry returned his stunned eyes to the scene playing out before him. “I don’t think you meant to kill anyone-”

“No! You can’t!” The young Hagrid looked ready to beg. “You don’t understand!”

“Hagrid, the dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered.”

Something about his words drew Harry’s attention. Tom looked on at the boy kneeling before him (though even a kneeling teenage Hagrid was taller than the already tall Tom) with the perfect balance of pity and righteous determination on his handsome face, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something about him looked- wrong.

“Aragog’d never kill anyone! Never!”

Tom shook his head. “Monsters don’t make good pets, Hagrid. Now, stand aside.” He lifted his wand, aiming directly at the box – the box which seemed to be… clicking?

The first spell knocked the box onto its side, and Hagrid cried out in anguish as a tangle of pitch-black legs and glistening pincers scuttled out at high speed. Tom tracked the creature with his wand but before he could cast a final curse Hagrid had catapulted into him headfirst and the world was spinning and Harry was falling, falling, he was-

He was in the Slytherin Common Room, staring at the forest-green ceiling with his chair sprawled next to him and a sharp ache in the back of his head.

“Ow,” Harry groaned, lifting a hand to his skull to assess the damage. No blood came back on his fingers, though the painful lump beneath his hair was bad enough on its own.

“Damn stone floors,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

It wasn’t until he saw the little black diary, sitting innocently on the desk, that the full reality of what he’d just seen hit him. Harry promptly sat back down on the floor.

 

“How did you get into Slytherin?” Draco asked, incredulously, when Harry was finished catching his friends up on the events inside the book at breakfast the next morning, at an emergency meeting at the library.

Harry blinked. “What?”

“No, really, this is insane!” Draco threw his hands in the air. “I’m not sure there’s an ounce of self-preservation in your entire body!”

“Sh!” Madam Pince hissed. She was ignored.

Blaise had his head in his hands. Daphne was shaking her head, and even Hermione looked a little exasperated with Harry’s news.

“Harry,” Tracey explained, resting one gentle hand on his arm. “That diary could have done anything. There are plenty of cursed objects in the world – you need to be more careful.”

Harry flushed. Admittedly, he hadn’t really been thinking when he chose to, quite literally, dive into the diary.

“Why would Ginny Weasley’s journal have been cursed? And I was fine, anyway, so it’s all okay.”

“You could have been killed!” Draco shrieked. Madam Pince stood up from her desk. “Do you not realise that?”

“It’s fine, Draco-”

“No it bloody well is not!”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, nothing happened!”

Draco stared at him, grey eyes so furious they made Harry want to look away, before he stood from the table with a slam onto the desk. “You’re an absolute moron, Harry Potter!”

“Mister Malfoy!” Madam Pince stood behind him, glasses balanced carefully on her hook-like nose and doing nothing to disguise her stern, angry gaze.

“Don’t worry,” Draco told her, slinging his bag over one shoulder with a glare back in Harry’s direction. “I was just leaving.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the library.

Madam Pince turned her hawk-like gaze on the silent table.

“Out,” she ordered, and escorted them from the room.

 

The group stood rather awkwardly in the corridor outside the library for a time.

“So,” Pansy said eventually, drawing the word out a few syllables. “That was fun.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Really, Pans?”

“What? What are you supposed to say after that performance?”

“Oh come on, let’s just get to class. We’ll see you later, Harry – and sort this out, will you?”

Harry stared as the two left, followed quickly by his other friends until it was just him and Blaise in the hallway, Neville and Tracey giving him sympathetic smiles as they left, while Hermione gave him a tentative hug and a “good luck”.

“I don’t understand what just happened,” he said finally.

The statement was genuine. Harry had never had anyone care if he put himself at risk before – he knew his friends cared about him, and he knew Draco worried, but he couldn’t wrap his head around why Draco would have such an extreme reaction when, in the end, nothing bad had come of his admittedly reckless action.

Blaise let out a deep sigh, far wearier than a twelve year old should be capable of, and ran one hand over his shaved head. “Oh, Potter,” he said. “What are we going to do with you?”

Harry turned to him, eyes wide with anxiety. “But- why is he mad at me? What did I do?”

Blaise put one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Just talk to Draco, alright? Sit down, and just… talk.” He shook his head. “It’s way overdue, anyway.”

“But I don’t understand-”

“Look, Draco cares about you, alright? We all do.”

Harry swallowed. It still felt odd to hear such a thing, though the warmth that blossomed in his chest every time was growing more familiar. “But nothing happened – I’m fine.”

“That’s not the point,” Blaise sighed again, and clasped Harry’s other shoulder as well to look him head on. “Listen, Harry. It’s not about you getting hurt or not getting hurt. It’s that you put yourself in that position in the first place.”

“…I still don’t understand.”

“Did you think about whether you would get hurt or not when you entered the diary?”

Harry blinked at the change in topic. “I- of course I did.”

“And your conclusion?”

Harry shrugged. “It’d be worth it. We needed to know more about the Chamber.”

Blaise stared at him for a long time. His normally inexpressive face seemed very open, there in the quiet corridor. His black eyes looked… sad. Harry felt a flash of anger towards whoever would cause that in his best friend, and then a sickness as he realised the culprit was him.

“Your life is worth more than some information, Harry,” Blaise said, finally. “Draco knows that. I know that. All of us know that. Draco’s upset, Harry, because _you_ don’t.”

Blaise squeezed him once, comforting, and left Harry standing in the corridor, late for Defence and his head spinning atop his shoulders.

 

Draco refused to speak to him throughout the entire day, despite Harry’s best efforts to approach the other boy. In every class, Draco would sit at the front with a silently recruited Theo, while Harry stared helplessly from his seat beside Blaise.

It wasn’t until that night that Harry managed to corner the Malfoy heir in their shared dormitory, giving a glare to Vince and Greg, lurking on Vince’s bed with a new collection of sweets, to make them leave. Harry flicked his wand at the door, locking it behind the two boys with an advanced charm Hermione had taught him.

Draco folded his arms over his chest, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes. “What, are you just going to keep me in here? You know you can’t do that. And I don’t even want to talk to you, you know. This is entirely unfair. I mean, what’s to stop me from just barricading myself in the bathroom if I need to? I bet you didn’t think about that. Although apparently you don’t think about anything these days-”

“Draco,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

The other boy gave an incredulous laugh. “You don’t even know what you’re apologising for, you dolt.”

“I didn’t think,” Harry took a step forward. “I never do, really. I don’t care about me getting hurt, not if it can help us in the long run, but you do. I didn’t think about what it might have done to you if something had happened in the diary, and I’m sorry.”

Draco was silent. His grey eyes had finally met Harry’s, piercing and vulnerable.

Harry took a deep breath. “I can’t promise I’ll care about what happens to me enough to not do stupid, reckless things, but… I don’t want to hurt you, Draco. I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

For a long moment, the two boys stood opposite each other in the dorm, considering each other in the candlelight.

Draco was the first to break the silence.

“Oh, come here, you idiot,” he demanded, voice wavering and eyes suspiciously wet as he strode towards Harry for a hug.

Feeling Draco’s warmth against him, the knowledge of forgiveness and friendship secure in his chest, Harry closed his eyes, and breathed.

“Now come on,” Draco said eventually, pulling back and subtly wiping his face with one sleeve. “There’s still an hour before curfew. You must have been dying to talk about that stupid diary all day. Let’s go find the others.”

 

“So we’re all friends again, then?” Daphne asked, raising one eyebrow once the group was settled into the library.

“Shut up, Daphne,” said Draco with a haughty sniff. “Now: Hagrid. That’s a load of nonsense, isn’t it?”

“I agree,” Hermione said, watching Harry and Draco cautiously, as though waiting for another argument to break out. Harry gave her a reassuring smile.

Tracey shook her head. “I don’t know, he’s kind of intimidating. You said you saw a creature, Harry? What kind?”

Harry frowned. “It looked like a really big spider.”

“How big?” Millicent asked, stiffening.

“Really big. Like, dog sized.”

Millicent cursed.

Pansy raised one eyebrow. “Scared of spiders, Millie?”

“Shut up.”

“Not a spider. Acromantula,” said Theo.

“Which is a giant spider. Not helpful, Theo.”

“It was meant to be informative.”

“Well, could an Acromantula do this?” Neville asked, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes. “Petrify people, I mean.”

Hermione shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

“But who’s to say it’s the same creature now as it was back then?” Draco pointed out. “An Acromantula is perfectly capable of killing someone; maybe that’s what it did fifty years ago, and now it’s something different.”

“Doubtful,” said Blaise. “Every story about the Chamber of Secrets talks about Salazar’s beast, singular.”

Harry sighed. “Then we’re back where we started.”

Millicent rubbed her eyes. “Shit.”

 

They were halfway back to the Slytherin Common Room when Harry realised with a curse that, caught up in his musings on the Chamber as he was, he’d left his bag in the library.

“Are you kidding me?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “And no one else noticed?”

“It was under the table,” Harry shrugged apologetically. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Hermione frowned. “It’s nearly curfew, Harry.”

“I’ll be fine, really,” he gave her a reassuring smile before turning to his Blaise, Draco, and Theo. “I’ll see you guys back in the Common Room.”

Harry jogged back to the library, flashing Madam Pince a sheepish grin when she scolded him for being out so late. He stopped in his tracks, however, when his bag came into sight.

His rucksack was sprawled onto the floor, the contents scattered around it in a mess as though someone had gone through it in a rush – someone who was looking for something.

Harry dropped to his knees, scrambling through the books and scraps of paper, but it was too late. Tom Riddle’s diary was gone.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disaster, and a visit to Hagrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhhhhhh hi

“Why are we going to a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match again?” Daphne complained. “There aren’t even any cute boys in Hufflepuff.”

Millicent rolled her eyes. “Some of us like the sport, Daph, not just the players.”

“And some of us like both,” said Pansy, linking her arm with Millicent’s and grinning cheekily. Millicent shook her head, but allowed the contact. “Besides, Anthony Goldstein’s not bad, right Daph?”

Daphne flushed pink and scoffed. “Goldstein isn’t even on the team, he’s a total bookworm. You should be setting him up with Granger over there.”

“Who’s Goldstein?” Hermione furrowed her brow.

“No one you need to worry about, Granger,” smirked Pansy. “Not with the way Daph looks at him.”

“I do NOT look at him in any such way Pansy Parkinson, and how dare you insinuate such a thing!”

Harry watched his friends bicker, smiling to himself. It struck him, sometimes, just how much he liked it at Hogwarts. Here, surrounded by people he trusted, it was hard to believe he’d have to return to the Dursleys’ for the summer – especially after his last dramatic exit. But he was fairly certain there was no other way. He’d thought of asking if he could stay over summer break, but who could he ask? Snape hated him, Dumbledore was strange (and Harry didn’t trust him), and none of his friends knew his secret. They could never know. There was always Mrs Malfoy, but with the way Draco danced around the subject of his father, that home was unlikely to be open to him with Lucius Malfoy around. No, he’d just have to put up with the Dursleys; at least for now.

“Harry?” Blaise was watching him, dark eyes concerned while he kept his features expressionless. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry assured him, quickly bringing up a smile. “Just thinking.”

Blaise didn’t seem convinced, but Draco was already barrelling ahead with the conversation.

“So who do you think is going to win, Harry? I’d put my money on both losing, if it were an option. Puffs vs Gryffindorks? It’s the start of a bad joke,” he snorted, before quickly glancing at Neville. “Ahem, no offence of course Longbottom.”

“Some taken on his behalf, Malfoy,” Hermione cut in disapprovingly, while Neville shifted awkwardly at her side.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. He carefully ignored the insulting comment. “Gryffindor have been playing well this last season, and the Weasley twins are easily the stronger beaters, but Hufflepuff have the better seeker…”

Daphne sighed in exasperation. “Who cares about strongest players when none of them are cute?”

“Daphne,” Tracey reprimanded, though she seemed inclined to agree.

“Hey, watch it!” Millicent tugged Pansy out of the way as Ginny Weasley scurried past them at high speed, wild red hair covering her face.

Ginny didn’t stop to look at them, let alone apologise, speeding away down the corridor.

Harry frowned after her. “She looked upset.”

“She didn’t look where she was going,” Millicent grumbled.

Pansy faux swooned against her. “Millie, you saved me! My knight, my brave protector-”

“Oh, get off,” Millicent pushed her away, face going a deep, odd purple.

_‘Kill this time...’_

Harry froze.

“Aw, Millie!”

“Don’t call me Millie!”

_‘Let me rip… tear…’_

“Harry?”

He blinked. The murderous voice was gone, and Harry realised too late that he was staring at a wall, fingers pressed against the stone.

Blaise and Draco were either side of him now, both worried. Draco rested one hand on his shoulder, feather-light.

“Are you okay?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s that voice again… but it’s gone.”

“Oh!”

The trio jumped. Turning, they found Hermione staring at Harry, eyes unfocused, mind a million miles away.

“I think I’ve just understood something… oh! I’ve got to go to the library!” She spun on her heel, and abruptly hurried away.

The rest of the group stared after her. Harry blinked, before sending a purposeful glance to Theo.  Theo nodded, and was gone, following Hermione down the corridor.

“What just happened?”

“I have no clue, Trace,” said Draco. “But if we linger any longer, we’re going to miss the game.”

“They’ll catch up,” Harry nodded. “Let’s go.”

The game, much to Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Millicent’s displeasure, was over before it begun. Professor Snape marched on to the field and told everyone to go back to their common rooms immediately, and not even Gryffindor captain Oliver Wood’s scandalised arguments could change his mind.

Both the Slytherin Head of House and Ravenclaw’s Professor Flitwick found Harry and his friends gossiping on their way back to the common rooms – or more specifically, they found Harry and Neville.

“Mr Potter, Mr Longbottom,” Snape addressed them, for once not sneering quite as much. “The two of you are required.”

“What for?” Draco stepped forward, suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Snape stared down at him, unforgiving. “I’m sure Mr Potter will inform you upon his return, Mr Malfoy, but for now you must excuse him from your sight, however painful that may be.”

Draco flushed, and looked set to argue, but Harry shook his head.

“It’s fine Draco, I’ll be right back.”

“What’s going on, P-professor?” Neville stammered (unsurprisingly looking only to Professor Flitwick with his question).

Flitwick sighed, his already small form getting smaller. “It’s best you see for yourself, Mr Longbottom.”

Harry studied the two professors as they walked, Neville a ball of anxious silence fidgeting at his side. With each part of the professors’ demeanour catalogued in his mind (Snape’s tenseness and lack of scornful looks, Flitwick’s uncharacteristic silence and bowed shoulders), the ball in the pit of Harry’s stomach got denser. Something was wrong, that much was clear. Whatever it was damaged both Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and was bad enough to have Snape of all people feeling on edge.

It wasn’t until Harry realised where they were going that he began to understand.

Flitwick stopped the two students outside the Hospital Wing, sighing once again. “I must warn you boys… this may be a shock.”

Neville was a wreck, his fretful energy getting on Harry’s nerves and making him restless and irritated – but it was far better than what he became once they stepped into the Hospital Wing.

Harry stepped forward, past Neville’s frozen, choking form, and reached out a hand. Hermione was cold. Theo was colder. They lay on beds side by side, still and pale. Lifeless.

“They were found near the library,” Madam Pomfrey told them, gentler than Harry had ever seen her. “Once the Mandrakes are grown I can revive them, along with the rest of the Petrified, but in the meantime – they were found with this.” She showed them a small hand-held mirror. “Is this familiar to either of you boys?”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Neville was crying, somewhere, behind him, at the foot of Hermione’s bed. At the feet of her corpse-

No.

She was alive. She and Theo would be fine, they were just Petrified.

Telling himself that didn’t change the way they looked. He felt so helpless. Two of his closest friends lay frozen and he had done nothing to help them. To stop them getting this way.

Harry felt as if he had been the one Petrified, but something in him was stirring. He couldn’t let this pass. Whatever the beast in the Chamber was, whoever had set it free – they wouldn’t stand a chance. He was young and inexperienced but he had learned his power since coming to Hogwarts. He was strong enough – angry enough – to do this.

All he had to do now was find Salazar’s monster. How hard could that be?

 

“All students will return to their house common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No exceptions,” Professor Snape rolled up the parchment he was reading from and pinned his beady glare on every Slytherin student foolish enough to make eye contact. “I should add that anyone found breaking this rule,” he focussed on Harry, “Will be severely punished at my hand, if they aren’t Petrified first.”

The first years gulped, pale and frightened. Even the older years looked unnerved.

“One more thing, though I doubt I need tell many of you this: should the culprit behind these attacks remain at large, the school will close. Notify your parents if they are unaware.” With a swirl of his cloak, Snape was gone.

Silence reigned for a few moments even after the door slammed behind him.

“Well,” some fourth year Harry didn’t know piped up, “At least they can stop saying it’s us now.”

Gemma Farley made a noise of disgust and promptly dropped a book on his head. “Insensitive much, Harlow?”

The boy wasn’t wrong, but Harry appreciated Gemma’s defence. Theo didn’t have that many friends outside of the second year group in Slytherin, quiet as he was, but even if he wasn’t Harry’s friend he was still a snake. He was one of theirs, and they should respect what had happened to him.

There was less tact used when it came to Hermione, of course, but Harry and Gemma shut it down where they could. He had never been so grateful to have a senior in his corner.

“This is a mess,” Daphne murmured. She was curled up on the sofa next to the fire, Astoria tucked against her side. Her fingers were white where they clutched onto her little sister’s shoulder, but if it hurt, Astoria didn’t let it show. “Why haven’t the teachers found this creep yet?”

“They will,” assured Tracey, though her bitten down nails betrayed her concern.

“Or they won’t,” said Harry.

“Harry-”

“Oh come on Tracey, they’ve been useless so far and you know it.”

Pansy shook her head. “And what are we supposed to do about that?”

“We have to do something!”

“Like what?” Blaise stared him down, calm as ever. “Pansy’s right, Harry. There’s not a lot we can do. Or should do, even.”

Harry made a noise of frustration and dropped his head into his hands. “I just- I feel so useless.”

Draco leaned closer against, brow furrowed as he ran a hand along Harry’s back in comfort. “Well – we could go see the groundskeeper.”

Harry perked up immediately. “Of course! Hagrid must know something!”

“Um, you two do remember that this is the same man you saw kept an Acromantula fifty years ago?” Pansy raised a brow.

“Exactly!” Harry sat up excitedly. “He’s the only one who can really tell us what happened!”

“And if he’s dangerous?” asked Blaise, pointedly.

Harry flushed. “I won’t go on my own. Draco will come, won’t you Draco?”

Draco did not look at all pleased with the idea of going to see the groundskeeper, but nodded. “He’d better not have an Acromantula these days.”

“He has a dog, actually.”

“Even if asking a guy that huge if he killed people fifty years ago _was_ a good idea,” interrupted Millicent, who had gone a bit green at the mention of giant spiders. “There’s a curfew. There’s no way you’ll get out of the common room, let alone out to that shack on the edge of the grounds.”

Harry looked at Draco with a smile. “That won’t be a problem.”

 

Fitting both him and Draco beneath Harry’s invisibility cloak proved to be a slight challenge. They had to squish together, and twice just getting out of the dorm he stepped on Draco’s foot. They got into the swing of it eventually however, and made it out of the castle without a hitch - although Draco seemed remarkably flushed the whole way.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked when they were out in the cool night air and Draco’s face next to his remained a glaring shade of red.

“I’m fine,” Draco responded shortly. “Shut up and focus on not tripping.”

Harry blinked. “Okay. Sorry.”

The blond boy didn’t say anything, but a few seconds later his fingers brushed against Harry’s with purpose. It was the closest Harry figured a Malfoy ever got to apologising. He turned his face into the folds of the cloak, and smiled.

There was light shining from behind Hagrid’s nauseatingly pink curtains when they finally arrived at  the groundskeeper’s small home, so Harry didn’t feel too bad about knocking on the door – but they was greeted with quite the sight.

“Who’s there?” Hagrid asked into the night. He held a crossbow drawn and aimed almost exactly at where Harry and Draco stood beneath the cloak.

“Uh,” said Harry.

Hagrid squinted. “What?”

Draco huffed and drew the cloak off, quickly stepping away from Harry. “It’s us. Can you stop pointing that?”

“Harry! And… Malfoy? What are you two doing here?” Hagrid lowered the crossbow. “There’s a curfew on, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” Harry finally managed to regain his voice and pointed at the weapon. “Um, what’s that for?”

The groundskeeper lifted the crossbow again – a little callously for either boy’s liking. “Oh, nothing. Nothing. I’ve been expecting… Ah, doesn’t matter. Come in, sit down, I’ll make tea…”

Fang was on them as soon as they passed the threshold, slobber and wagging tail. Harry had to hold back snickering as Draco pushed the drooling dog away with disgust and began inspecting his robes.

“I heard about Hermione – how’s she doing?” Hagrid asked them, pulling a box of rock cakes off a shelf twice Harry’s height.

“Still Petrified,” Harry said, jaw clenched. “Listen, Hagrid, we came to ask you something. We need to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets.”

Hagrid coughed, opened his mouth to answer-

And was promptly interrupted by a banging knock on the door. The rock cake he was holding dropped to the floor, but Draco was already tugging Harry into a corner and throwing the cloak back over them. Hagrid checked they were completely covered before picking up his crossbow with a swallow and aiming it at the door.

“Come in.”

The door swung open. Albus Dumbledore stepped inside, grim-faced, and behind him a squat looking man in a pinstripe suit.

“Cornelius Fudge,” Draco breathed. Harry recognised him from the _Prophet_ as soon as he heard the name – the Minister of Magic had had many features in Harry’s time at Hogwarts.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” Dumbledore greeted, solemn.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir – Mister Fudge. What are you doing here?”

Fudge shook his head. “Bad business, Hagrid. Very bad business. Had to come, you see. Four attacks on Muggleborns, and that pureblood boy – things have gone far enough. Ministry has to act, you understand.”

Hagrid dropped his crossbow. “I never… Professor Dumbledore, you know I never-”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence.” Dumbledore set a disapproving gaze on the Minister. Fudge began to wilt under the stare, but managed to draw himself up to his full – if unimpressive – height.

“Look, Albus, Hagrid’s record is against him. I’ve got to take him.”

“Take me where?” Hagrid was looking more and more desperate. “Not Azkaban!”

“For a short stretch only – not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution,” Fudge placated. “If someone else is caught, you’ll be released with a full apology.”

The comment didn’t serve to mollify Hagrid. Harry’s heart twisted. The man looked on the verge of tears.

Another knock interrupted conversation – this one high, a rapping sound, metal on wood. Harry’s heart dropped before the door finished opening. A flash of platinum blond hair; Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers in his own but it meant little when Lucius Malfoy came stepping, sneering, into view.

A choked sound made its way out of Draco’s throat. It may have been ‘father’ – Harry can’t really tell. He’s more concerned with the way Draco’s nails dig into the back of his hand as the boy shakes his head.

“Already here, Fudge? Good, good,” said the eldest Malfoy by way of greeting. He looked around Hagrid’s house like any part of it may be covered in disease.

“What’re you doing here?” Hagrid seemed even more upset at the newcomer. “Get out of my house!”

“My dear man,” Lucius smiled cruelly, faux politeness and smarm. “Please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your – well, do you call this a house? I simply called at the school and was told the headmaster was here.”

Hagrid flushed further. Harry fumed - Draco’s father or not, Harry wanted to jinx the hell out of him.

“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” Dumbledore asked, calm as ever.

Lucius’ smile spread. His teeth flashed, predator-like; triumphant. “Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” he drawled, so like Draco’s own cocky inflection but so much worse. “But the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension.” He passed a scroll to Fudge with one gloved hand. “You’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. What with all these attacks, there’ll be no Muggleborns left at Hogwarts. And we all know what an awful loss that would be.”

His tone left very little doubt on Lucius’ belief in that statement.

Fudge appeared quite flustered. “Now, see here, Lucius – Dumbledore suspended! No, no, it’s the last thing we want right now... If Dumbledore can’t stop these attacks – well, I mean to say, who can?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Lucius, uncaring. “But as all twelve governors have voted-”

“And how many did you have to threaten before they agreed!” Hagrid snarled.

“I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that-”

Hagrid wasn’t done. “You can’t take Dumbledore! Take him away and the Muggleborns won’t stand a chance! There’ll be killings next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” Dumbledore commanded, and Hagrid quietened at once. The obedience would have worried Harry if he hadn’t been carefully splitting his attention between the scene in front of him and his best friend. “If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside. However, you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

Harry gasped. Unmistakeably, Dumbledore’s eyes trailed the wall of Hagrid’s cottage, stopping only when they fixed with his own.

Lucius raised a brow. “Admirable sentiments. We shall all miss your highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope your successor will manage to prevent any more, ahem, killings.” He made a mocking bow in the direction of the door, and followed Dumbledore out with his head held high.

Fudge fiddled with his hat and made a jerky gesture for Hagrid to leave first. The groundskeeper made it partially to the door before turning with a cough.

“If anyone wanted to, er, find out some stuff, all they’d need to do is follow the spiders. That’d lead them right. That’s all I’m saying. Er. Yeah.”

Fudge watched after him, befuddled and mildly concerned, before leaving, knocking the door shut behind them as Fang began to howl.

As soon as they were gone, Harry flicked off the cloak and turned to his best friend.

“Hey, hey, Draco, are you okay?”

Draco did not look okay. He was, in fact, shaking.

“He didn’t say anything about this. He mustn’t have even told mother, she would have told me, she would have said something- I didn’t know he was going to take Dumbledore away, Harry, you must believe me-”

“Of course I believe you, Draco, come here.” Harry pulled him into a hug, clutching tight as Draco took deep, jolting breaths against his shoulder.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were suspiciously wet. “Hagrid was right, wasn’t he? And Mother said it too - Dumbledore was the only one working to stop this. He’s a madman but – everyone’s scared of him, aren’t they?”

Harry set his jaw. “We’ll just have to keep working in his stead, then.”

“Harry-”

“I don’t trust Dumbledore as far as I can throw him, Drake, but did you see him at the end? He knew we were here. He wanted us to keep figuring this out. And Hagrid, he said to follow the spiders.” He looked around and quickly pointed at a window. “There, look.”

A trail of spiders was climbing up the wall, out a crack in the glass of a window and into the night. The vision was eerily familiar, and Harry had to shake the déjà vu, remembering the night they’d found Mrs Norris.

“Drake?”

Harry turned back. “What?”

“You just called me Drake.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, flushed, shrugged. “Um, sorry.”

“No, it’s. It’s okay.” Draco looked less shaky than before at least, and gave a small smile before squaring his shoulders and glancing towards the spiders. “Should we get the others?”

“We don’t know how much time we have,” Harry shook his head. “We should go now.”

Draco looked at him disapprovingly. “At least let me write a note to Blaise. Hagrid must have an owl around here somewhere, right?”

Hagrid did, in fact, have an owl, a grouchy looking thing with a fiercely sharp beak and beady eyes, tucked into a ceiling beam. Harry wondered if it was another one of his “pets”. Draco scrawled a note and dropped it at the owl’s feet so as to avoid the talons. The creature shook itself, looking murderous, and grabbed the letter as soon as Draco opened the door for it.

“Come on,” Harry led Draco outside, unwilling to let go of his hand. The trail of spiders continued, further and further into the dark. They appeared to be heading for-

“The Forbidden Forest?” Draco groaned. “Really?”

Harry leant back into Hagrid’s to grab a lantern and cracked his neck. “Let’s go.”

“This is so dangerous, I cannot believe-”

“At least I have you with me this time,” Harry smiled at him. Draco went an odd shade of pink in the lantern light.

“Well – let’s at least bring Fang.”

Harry shrugged, and waited for Draco to go grab the dog. As soon as he returned, he linked their fingers again. He couldn’t quite explain why, but the feeling was – nice. Safe.

“Alright,” Harry took a deep breath. “Shall we?”

“If we get killed, my ghost is going to kill your ghost all over again,” said Draco, and followed Harry into the dark.


End file.
